


A Voice from the Past

by Lady of Spain (ladyofspain7)



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-02-23 14:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 33,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13192116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofspain7/pseuds/Lady%20of%20Spain
Summary: Claire disobeys Jamie's order to stay put (as he seeks our Horrocks to clear his name), and travels to the standing stones. That very day, Frank goes back to Craigh na Dun, and is startled by what he imagines is Claire's voice calling him. He dismisses it, but returns at a later date and this time goes through the portal to find her. Torn at meeting him, she finds she can't leave Jamie. This is NOT a Frank/Claire pairing.





	1. Vanished

 

 

  

A Voice from the Past

By Lady of Spain

* * *

 

 

Disclaimer: D. Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander                      Banners by LOS

 

**Chapter 1: Vanished**

**. . . . .**

It was heaven, being surrounded by all these historical documents and ephemera. He could sit here all day with the vicar, perusing the papers. It was a treasure trove, and his head was immersed in it most joyfully. He almost felt guilty telling Claire to borrow Mrs. Baird’s car to return to the stones alone to see about that little blue flower she had plucked. It was obvious to him as well as Reverend Wakefield’s caretaker, that his poor wife was bored to tears with all the genealogy, and endless reams of written history. What excited him was not necessarily fascinating to Claire. In any case, she could get some fresh air, away from these musty smelling stacks. Besides, he told himself, the curious forget-me-not or whatever the bloody hell that blossom was, seemed to appeal to her sense as an amateur botanist.

Reveling in every new piece of information, the time flew by. Mrs. Graham offered to have him stay for dinner, but Claire would be waiting at the bed and breakfast. Frank declined politely, took up his hat, and left, pledging to come back in the morning.

On the way home, in a burst of spontaneity, he stopped at a flower shop and bought a bouquet of Gerber daisies and baby’s breath. After all, this was their second honeymoon. It wasn’t fair to her that he spent most of his time in a stuffy room with an old vicar. He’d take her out tomorrow evening; someplace nice, secluded, with good food, and a bottle of their best wine. Whistling, he headed toward the building, and a quiet night with his beloved wife.

**. . . . .**

As he got to the hostel, he noticed a police vehicle parked outside the front entrance. Perhaps the men had just dropped by for a spot of tea and biscuits?

He reached the registration desk, and there was Mrs. Baird in an agitated state, gesturing wildly at the two uniformed gentlemen. Frank wondered if someone had nicked the silverware, or snuck out the rear exit without settling his account. Ah, well, it was none of his concern.

He arrived at their room, but had to unlock the door himself. That was peculiar. Why hadn’t Claire opened it for him? He entered, glancing around, and placed the flowers on the highboy.

“Claire,” he called out while removing his necktie. “Sorry I’m late. I was just so embroiled in all the records that Reverend Wakefield had at his fingertips that the time slipped away from me. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night. I promise.” Oddly, there was no answer, only silence.

“Claire …?”

His stomach clenched, and he began to feel uneasy. The loo was empty. Furthermore, on inspection, the suite appeared as if nothing had been touched since the maids cleaned the room. Surely, his wife would have returned from Craigh na Dun by now. She could possibly be shopping somewhere, but most of the shops had closed at this hour. He had barely squeezed into the one for the flowers, mere minutes before closing time.

Peering into the wardrobe, he scrutinized its contents. If she had inexplicably left him, shouldn’t her bag and clothing be missing?

Everything remained exactly as he and Claire left it this morning. Flinging his tie onto a nearby chair, he sat, dumbfounded, on the edge of the mattress. Just then, a knock at the door jolted him out of his reverie.

Mrs. Baird stood in the doorway. She was flushed; her hair disheveled, and her hands fidgeting, fretfully. “Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. Baird?”

“Aye … weel, it seems yer wife hasna returned wi’ my car. The constable has sent out a search party to find her, and I was hopin’ ye could shed some light on where she might be.”

Frank lowered his face into his palms. “It’s true then? My wife’s gone missing?”

“I believe so. Can ye tell me anathin’ that might help?”

He glanced up at her, scarcely forcing the words out; his throat was constricted so tautly. “She went out this morning to the standing stones. They should look there first.”

“I see. Ye just sit tight, Dr. Randall, I’ll let the police know. I’m sure the car broke down or some such thing. They’ll find yer missus, and she’ll be right as rain.”

The devastated husband attempted a smile, but it was a poor effort. “Yes, I’m certain that’s all it is. Thank you, Mrs. Baird.”

 **. . . . .**  

A policeman came by about an hour later with the news. “Sorry to bother ye, Dr. Randall, but I’m afraid I have some bad tidin’s. We found the car at the foot of the standin’ stones, just as ye said, but there was nigh a sign of yer wife. It appears there might have been some foul play. I hate to ask ye this question, but can ye tell me yer whereabouts for the last sixteen hours?”

Frank shot up from his seat. Did the police actually think he had murdered her, and hidden the body? “Are you suggesting that I had something to do with her disappearance? That’s … that’s just rubbish. I love my wife.”

He nervously rubbed his chin. “You can talk with Reverend Wakefield. He can corroborate my story as to how I spent the day. I _spent_ it in his study. He and Mrs. Graham were witnesses to that fact.”

Pointing a finger at the man, Frank shouted, “You should be out looking for her instead of accusing me of some heinous crime. She has to be somewhere. People don’t just vanish without a trace.

“There are many things that could have occurred. Perchance she fell and hit her head. She could be delirious, wandering about on the road as we speak.”

The man conceded Frank’s point. “I’ll take that under consideration, sir. In the meantime, I wouldna skip town for a few days whilst we sort this out.”

“I don’t intend to go _anywhere_ without my wife,” Randall huffed.

“I’ll leave ye to it, then?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be off. G’night to ye.”

It decidedly was _not_ a good night, and never would be again until he had Claire at his side.

**. . . . .**

Frank called the Reverend the next day after a sleepless night, to explain what had happened. It was a moot point since the officer in charge of the investigation had been to the vicarage asking questions.

He hung up the phone, got dressed, and took off in his car, his destination clearly in mind.

The monoliths quietly stood, holding the secret of his wife’s disappearance. He scoured the area, looking for a clue; anything that would shed light on her location. Nothing! His frustration and fear were beginning to boil over. Where was she? Why couldn’t these bumbling numbskulls find her? Wasn’t that what they were paid to do?

**. . . . .**

A week passed, and every day—twice a day—Frank called the police station, only to be told the same … _nothing_. His brain was taxed, trying mightily to ascertain the possible causes of Claire’s mysterious departure. If she’d been kidnapped, a ransom note would most assuredly have arrived by this time. If, heaven forbid, she was dead, why hadn’t her remains turned up? His emotions got the best of him at that thought, and tears welled up in his eyes.

This trip to Scotland began as a second honeymoon, a time to reconnect after a horrendous war. And now, another separation for no apparent reason had split them asunder. It was too much to bear.

He buried himself in the pile of documents at Reverend Wakefield’s in the hopes of putting this situation out of his mind. He left early one day and visited the police station. After being told there were no new leads, he exploded. “Why can’t you double your efforts? My wife has been missing now for eleven days. Maybe I should hire my own detectives, since your party seems incompetent.”

Tapping a pencil on the lip of his desk, the officer replied, “Now, see here, Dr. Randall, I understand how upsettin’ this has been for ye, but we’re doin’ everythin’ in our power to find the woman.”

“And obviously, everything you’ve done appears to be lacking. I want results; I have to return to the University in five more days, and I refuse to leave without a jot of what’s happened to Claire.”

The man pushed his chair out behind him and stood. “I think ye should go, sir, before we both say things in haste.”

“I’ll go, but when I return, you had better have some scrap of information to tell me.” He stomped off, seething.

**. . . . .**

Mrs. Graham entered the study with tea and scones accompanied with a dish of clotted cream. She set it down, and said, “Dr. Randall, when ye’ve finished yer tea, I’d like to have a word wi’ ye, if I may.”

He was not in the mood, but the poor woman looked so sincere in approaching him, that he acquiesced.

**. . . . .**

They sat down at a small table across from each other. “What I’m about to tell ye, may seem strange, but I canna hold my tongue any longer. Ye say yer wife went to the stones at Craigh na Dun.”

He nodded. “That is correct.”

“Weel, surely ye’ve heard the legends.”

“Of course, but what have they to do with Claire?”

She grabbed his hand. “Think about this, Dr. Randall. What if the legends are true? What if Claire traveled through the stones, and is now trapped in another time; in the past.”

“Rubbish. There has to be some other explanation besides this fairy story.”

“But don’t ye see? What is the other explanation?”

He sighed. “And you believe this?”

“I do. I’ve heard stories of people disappearing, and then returning. On interrogation, their families thought they were off their trolleys, but all of them? I might say that would be too much of a coincidence, don’t ye think?”

“This is too fantastic to be believable. I don’t mean to offend you, but I can’t accept this premise as fact.”

“Ye’re entitled to yer opinion, I suppose, but I wouldn’t leave any stone unturned—these stones in particular.”

She patted his hand, then started to withdraw. “If ye’ll excuse me, I’d best get the tea things cleaned op.”

“I thank you for your concern.”

“Ye’re very welcome, but think about what I told ye. Oh … and if ye please, don’t mention our wee chat to the Reverend. He doesn’t agree wi’ the stories either.”

**# # # # #**

Frank must’ve been out of his mind with worry. And I did try to get back to him, but at every turn, Dougal or some of the others would thwart my plans. Bloody hell, I couldn’t get away. Even that ginger-haired lad stopped me once or twice, but at least Jamie MacTavish afforded me a modicum of respect. If I didn’t know any better I’d swear he had some feelings for me. It was obvious that Dougal  _did_ , albeit, the wrong kind of feelings. He’d just as soon _grind my corn_ as it were, as to look at me.

I repeated my cover story to any inquisitive person who asked, and Colum, the so-called Laird of Castle Leoch, after listening to my fabricated yarn, agreed that I should accompany the itinerant tinker to Inverness and continue my passage to France. As luck would have it, when the tinker arrived, _Himself_ sought an audience with me, and prevented my egress by soliciting my presence here—indefinitely, I might add. I was vested with the honored responsibility of becoming the resident healer.

Did my ears deceive me? The blustering oaf reneged on his sworn word. I held my temper, biting my tongue on the chance that he would see reason. “But your lordship, you specifically promised to allow me to finish my journey to France.”

“Aye, and now circumstances have arisen as negate that promise. It is nay mean task to acquire a healer wi’ such proficiency as yerself.”

“Am I to understand that I have no say in the matter?”

“Och … ye can say all ye wish. It will no sway my decision. Ye’ll stay here at my pleasure ’til such time as I release ye from yer most welcome service.”

I curtsied demurely, in contrast to the vitriol in my bowels. I desperately wanted to throttle the man. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Frank was farther from me than ever before. Fool that I was, I should have guessed that a _Sassenach_ in the midst of a pack of Highlanders would be suspect. I was a virtual prisoner within the walls of the castle. The surgery would become my own personal dungeon.

On the way to my room, I bumped into Jamie.

His brow furrowed. “Sassenach, the tinker didna wait for yer return. Are ye no goin’ then?”

Still feeling the effects of that odious man, I breathed out, “It doesn’t appear so. His mighty lordship has other plans for me.”

“Ah … I see. And what plans would those be?”

“You are looking at the newly appointed _chief of staff_.”

His expression changed to one of confusion. “I’m sorry, I dinna take yer meanin’.”

“I _mean_ , that I’ll be managing more bandages than yours.”

A grin spread across his face.

I hissed at him, “Well, I’m glad to see someone is happy about my nomination.”

Leaning against the wall with one elbow, he cheekily declared, “Och … I love the way yer face burns crimson when ye’re in such a state.”

“Get out of my way, Mr. MacTavish, before I do you bodily harm. Your goddamned cheerfulness is gnawing at my nerves.”

“I didna mean to upset ye further. It’s only as I’m verra pleased as ye’ll be stayin’ a bit longer.”

“Not if I can help it …” I muttered, brushing him aside.

* * *

 


	2. The Unbeliever

  

Disclaimer: D. Gabaldon owns all rights to outlander     Banner by LOS

**. . . . .**

The incompetence of the Inverness police was only superseded by their lethargy. This was beyond vexation; his grandmother could move faster. The sabbatical allotted by the University had come to an end, and he had to return to London. With a heavy heart, Frank packed his bags and loaded them into the trunk of the car. He wrestled with what to do about Claire’s things, but ultimately, they traveled to London with the rest of the luggage.

The dean had apparently apprised all his colleagues of the terrible misfortune, and many words of condolence were heaped upon him. No amount of useless platitudes could soothe the ache in his lonely heart, however.

Dreary months passed, and one day, a letter arrived from Reverend Wakefield, explaining that he had found another box in his predecessor’s belongings with a plethora of documents, and missives. Some of them were original, and several signed by none other than Jonathan Wolverton Randall. There was also Captain Randall’s personal seal that the kind reverend offered to bestow on him. Despite his lingering grief, he wondered how he could possibly pass up this fortuitous circumstance. The chance that Claire would ever be found became a distant dream.

In the following weeks, he made plans to make a short visit to the vicarage.

**# # # # #**

We had just finished collecting the rents, and were on our way back to Castle Leoch, and a return to my captivity. While we were stopped at a brook to fill our canteens with water, a group of redcoats gazed down on us from a nearby ridge. I recognized the leader as the same chap that inquired about my situation at the last collection site. He left his horse hobbled with the others, and came down the bank to talk specifically to me.

“Ma’am, are you sure you’re quite all right? That you are willingly accompanying these … Highlanders?”

In an attempt to avoid bloodshed, I lied like a representative of the House of Lords. “I appreciate your concern, Corporal, but I assure you, I’m in no need of your protection.”

Proffering his hand, he said, “Nevertheless, I shall escort you to Fort William, and affirm that you are indeed among friends.”

Now was my chance. English gentlemen would come to my aid, and see that I could continue my journey back to those blasted stones. Unfortunately, Dougal insisted on joining me; in hindsight, it was a blessing in disguise.

**. . . . .**

In a most peculiar turn of events, the officers I’d met with got called away, and I was once again in the clutches of that madman, Black Jack Randall, as Mr. MacTavish called him. Needless to say, this second encounter did not fare well, and if Dougal hadn’t been on the premises, I might have been thrown into prison, and become fodder for the rats. Captain Randall negotiated with my chaperone, that I was to meet with him in three days’ time. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! How in the bloody hell could I avoid another meeting—and beating—with the sadistic bastard? As they say, the third time’s the charm, and I was not looking forward to that at all.

Dougal continued eyeing me after this debacle. What was the war chief thinking? Surely nothing good. I imagine he had drummed up some strategy to impede Randall’s nefarious plans. That something culminated in a coerced marriage with Mr. MacTavish, who as it turned out, was not Mr. MacTavish after all. The wedding was a hurried affair. I was to be Jamie’s wife in under two days.

Jamie was not as disturbed about the impending nuptials as was I. But, then neither was he already married. As the day approached, I got pie-eyed drunk and had a monstrous hangover, when awakened by the exuberant Mrs. Fitz. I was a puppet, and she, the puppeteer, pulling the strings … literally. I was strapped into a tight corset, and surrounded by a beautiful, shimmering-gray, pleated, wool gown with a silk stomacher embroidered with silver and black acorns. The ingenious Ned Gowan had managed to procure it—somewhere disreputable, no doubt.

As we got ready to enter the church, I whined to Jamie, “How can I possibly marry you, when I don’t even have the slightest notion of what your real name is?”

It was then that I was properly introduced to my future husband by Jamie, himself. The grin that accompanied his features, grew exponentially wider as he slowly articulated the name given to him at birth. “James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, at yer service, ma’am.”

He made a gallant bow, and took my hand, brushing his lips upon its surface.

Dougal, ever impatient, interrupted this show of chivalry with his comment, “Let’s get on wi’ it aye?” _Lovely._

Beastly manners, that one. I noticed Jamie bristle at the rude remark. It was gratifying to know that he was an unwitting pawn in this union as well.  

My head throbbed, and all the proceedings were little more than a blur, except for when Dougal got out his sgian dubh, and sliced my wrist. Quite a different wedding ceremony than the one I experienced with Frank. For all I knew, I could have been vowing to be chief cook and bottle washer to the lot of them. Even if my brain wasn’t so befuddled, how could I decipher what the officiator was saying? It was half in Latin, and half in bloody Gaelic!

**. . . . .**

I must admit that the wedding night was quite enjoyable though, much to my astonishment—and shame. Jamie was, as expected, clumsy, and awkward, but he came to my bed with such an innocence and joy, that it was infectious. He was so unassuming and sweet. I couldn’t have asked for a more tender and sincere lover. He was attentive; utterly appreciative of my feminine attributes. As for my thoughts on _his_ physiognomy … good heavens, his musculature was reminiscent of Michelangelo’s _David_. I was aroused, there was no denying it, and my body’s response confirmed the chemistry between us.

Lying beside me, he murmured into my ear, “Sassenach, I didna hurt ye, did I?”

“Absolutely not. That was _supposed_ to happen.”

Jamie nodded, in understanding. “Hmnph, so Murtagh’s advice on such thin’s as this were no really accurate?”

 “I should say not. Not accurate at all.”

“D’ye suppose ye could teach me how to please ye all the time like that?”

Ruffling his Titian curls, I admonished, “Well, it won’t happen _all_ the time. I might be tired, or possibly concerned about something or other.”

“Ah, I see. Weel, then, I’ll try verra hard to ease yer mind, and make certain as ye’re no o’er-worked at the surgery.”

Sighing, I replied, “Oh, Jamie, if only it was that simple.”

**. . . . .**

Being an adulteress and a bigamist to boot, should have reduced me to a state of self-abhorrence, yet feelings of guilt dissipated during my associations with Jamie. The man was so amiable, and told such amusing stories, or rather he told them in an amusing fashion. His eyebrows would raise up and down, his mouth twitching, his every muscle contributing flavor to the most insipid tale.

It got so, that whenever we were together, Frank became less and less real; a distant memory. Jamie was a character bigger than life, and he was rapidly insinuating himself into mine.

**. . . . .**

Jamie’s libido appeared to be insatiable … not that I had any complaints per se. It most probably lay in the novelty of it all. He was nearly sixteen years Frank’s junior, as well. Whatever the cause, he never let me out of his sight for any length of time except for crucial circumstances … a command audience with Colum, for instance. I was invariably becoming accustomed to my Scottish lover, and the goal to return to my Frank, less of an imperative nature.

My focus abruptly reappeared as one day in a meadow, Jamie’s amorous endeavors put both our lives in jeopardy.

So urgent was his need, he lay me down in the soft grass. As we were in the throes of passion, two deserters happened upon us.

Having my eyes closed, I heard the click of a gun’s hammer being cocked. I looked up to witness an ex-redcoat with his pistol butted up against Jamie’s temple, and another man smirking beside him. “Get ye up slow and easy, ye filthy highlander.”

Jamie complied with the owner of the weapon, as the other man exchanged places with him. The bloody brute mounted me, in an attempt to reap the end result of my husband’s ministrations. With his mind otherwise occupied; he didn’t notice my hand reach for the sgian dubh, hidden in the pocket of my skirt. Angus’ course in felling a blackheart came to fruition, as my blade entered the culprit’s kidney, essentially killing him straightaway. When I shoved the man’s corpse off of me, it gave Jamie time to snatch the pistol from the other perpetrator. In the tussle, the gun went off, and the deserter shared the same fate as his crony.

Jamie knelt down and had me enveloped in his arms immediately, stroking my face, kissing my hair. “Are ye all right, Sassenach?”

I couldn’t speak, and my body trembled from the shock of the ordeal. A cold feeling came over me. I had killed a man with my own hands. Why did he force me to kill him? He deserved it, but it was not up to me to mete out his sentence. My god, I was an adulterer, a bigamist and was now adding murderer to my list of character flaws. Character flaws—is that what they were? I had to get back to Frank. I didn’t belong here; this godforsaken country, where people did as they pleased with a pistol or a sword. Jamie notwithstanding, I determined to leave as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

**# # # # #**

Misery aside, Frank surrounded himself once more with the mound of archaic sheaves, forgetting momentarily that Claire hadn’t come with him this trip.

The vicar joined him at times, pulled by the draw of tangible history. Seeing the expression of pain that occasionally flickered across Frank’s countenance, the reverend, astutely offered, “I’m sorry that you’re no closer to finding what happened to your wife. My prayers are with you. If there’s anything I can do ...”

“Thank you, Reverend, but I believe it’s hopeless.”

“No, never lose hope, Son.”

**. . . . .**

After an exhaustive search through the myriad piles of ledgers and documents, he got ready to pack up his pad of painstaking notations, and be his way. Wakefield stopped him before he made his exit. “Oh, how thoughtless of me. I have Captain Randall’s seal to give you.”

Disappearing into the study, he came out, carrying a scratched wooden box in his palm. Frank took it and opened the lid. The interior was lined in worn, faded, dark green peau de soie, and a pewter, filigreed, seal case lay within the folds. On removing the cover, he saw the seal itself, a matching handle with the incised monogram of Jonathan Wolverton Randall. He slipped the seal back inside its case and closed the lid of the wooden container.

“I can’t tell you how much this means to me. I am forever in your debt.”

“Think nothing of it. He was your ancestor, and the seal rightfully belongs in your keeping.”

**# # # # #**

Jamie had the good fortune to hear of a British deserter by the name of Horrocks who had witnessed the killing of the Sergeant major.

He was fairly dancing with joy at the news. I couldn’t have cared less. My main focus was to get back to 1945 and my husband, Frank. I continued eating what could _loosely_ be called food, let alone dinner, Jamie so exuberant that he failed to notice my lack of enthusiasm.

He plopped down beside me at the campfire with a plate of untouched, burnt offerings. “Sassenach, if I can speak wi’ this Horrocks, I can discover who the bugger was as murdered the man, and clear my name, ken? So, we’ll be on the road for a while yet. Angus and Rupert have gone ahead to seek out a place where we can meet.”

I wasn’t convinced of the integrity of Horrocks, after all, he was a deserter. “How can you be certain that he can be trusted? The man is a deserter, not to mention, a bloody Englishman. He could tell you anything just to take your money.”

“Aye, truly spoken. And that is why ye’ll no be goin’ wi’ us to the parley.”

It was getting very tiresome to be ordered about like I was a personal servant of this Scottish mob, and I punctuated my dissatisfaction with a loud huff, then shoved my plate off my lap along with the utensils into the fire. Storming off to my sleeping pallet, I peered over my shoulder at the men. Most of them were laughing at my actions, but Dougall gave Jamie a look that said, _Ye’d best keep the lass in line._

**. . . . .**

We rode for hours, but when we were getting near the rendezvous point, Jamie dismounted and commanded me to stay in a clearing with one of the men.

“Young Willie will keep ye company ’til my return. He’ll see as no harm can come to ye. So, see as ye stay put, aye?”

Pulling a face, I curtsied to the big oaf. “Yes, master,” I answered as sarcastically as possible.   

Did he really expect me to elope again? He’d be correct in that assumption, for in the next few minutes, I managed to discover that the stone circle was close enough for me to walk to it.

Circumstances arose in my favor. Willie had to relieve himself and trotted off into the bushes. The second he left me alone to my own devices, I was off, walking along a stream until I reached my destination. While gazing up at the huge monoliths I wondered how long they had graced this hill, because it didn’t differ much from the first time I lay eyes upon it.

As I approached the cleft in the largest rock, I swear I heard Frank calling to me. In a frenzy, I screamed back, “Frank!” As soon as the sound left my lips, three redcoats descended from out of nowhere, dragging me off. I struggled to break free, all the while repeatedly shouting Frank’s name as loud as I could.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Traveling

  

 

Disclaimer: D. Gabaldon owns Outlander             Banner by LOS

**. . . . .**

On the spur of the moment, Frank decided to turn the car around and make one final journey up the slopes of Craigh na Dun.

He trudged slowly to the top of the hill, his heart heavily burdened by the thought that this was the last place Claire had visited before she … No, he couldn’t bring himself to fathom such a thing. She had to be alive and well, somewhere, possibly with no memory of her former life.

Reaching the circle of stones, he leaned down and plucked a sprig of forget-me-nots, at the base of one. The innocent looking flower had beckoned his wife to this lonely summit, and now she was gone from his life. He fell to his knees in despair, his face in his hands. “Claire!” he cried. “Claire!”

A buzzing reverberated in his ears, and a gust of air stirred up the twigs and leaves about him. Frank inhaled deeply, as he tried to compose himself. When he lifted his head, a faint voice came to him on the wind. It was her. He would know that sound anywhere. He heard his name ghosting through the stones several times, then fading away to nothing.

Suddenly, his legs felt weak, and he grabbed at the face of the stone to buoy him up. How could this be? Was he hallucinating? Had he finally fallen over the brink, into the sea of insanity?

As his heart rate normalized, he shook off the feelings and thoughts this ghastly place had awakened in him. Down the hill he raced, got in his car, and keyed the ignition. Only when he was halfway home, did his mind dismiss it all as the fanciful longings of a hungry soul.

**. . . . .**

While in London, Frank pondered the events of that day. Over and over he thought about the sound of her voice riding on the zephyr, floating to him as it were. Could the legends be true? Did he in actuality hear his wife calling to him?

His appetite, not nearly up to par, had lessened further, and sleep was impossible. Still … he had a job to do, and so he soldiered on.

A few weeks passed, and not surprisingly, he fell ill. After his recovery, he decided to return to Inverness and the blasted stones. Hopeless though it seemed, he would test the hypothesis, attempt to travel through time, and bring Claire home.

It was a terribly insane idea, but as Mrs. Graham stated, what other explanation could there be?

Preparing in the event that his travels could possibly take place, he bought several gold coins from a curiosity shop, from different centuries, not knowing which era he would arrive at.

**. . . . .**

He emptied his pockets, except for the seal case, coins, and the car keys, on the chance that he would indeed be traveling through a time portal. If anyone stole the contents of this vehicle while he was … elsewhere, he’d never forgive himself for leaving the precious seal behind. Feeling a fool, Frank trekked toward the grey slabs. They stood as silent sentinels, mocking him while he closed the distance.

**# # # # #**

My bum was sore, and my brain worse, hence the term, _sorehead_. While I couldn’t believe the bravery—the sheer audacity of my ginger haired Scotsman—and was thankful for the daring rescue, anger still stirred my soul. The brute took a strap to me for disobeying his bloody orders and putting him and the others at risk. It was barbaric. I didn’t know if I could ever forgive him for that trespass against my person. I said I was sorry, for pity’s sake, but apparently, that apology, though sincere, wasn’t sufficient for my _lord and master._ A beating was my penance. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, I’d make him pay for it as only a woman can. Sadistic Highlander!

Days passed, and I exiled him from my bed. When I deemed him penitent enough, I resumed my conjugal duties. It was difficult to uphold my resolve all that time, watching his pained expression whenever he was near me. In all honesty, it was punishment for me as well, since I found him so utterly attractive, and knowing the pleasurable encounters we shared. 

The night that I forgave him, was one that I would never forget. I had a brush in my hand, raking through the knots that formed in my unruly hair. My back was to him, and he touched one shoulder. I flinched, and he softly spoke, “I canna go on like this, Sassenach. I miss ye, truly. I miss touchin’ ye and lovin’ ye as yer husband. I’m verra sorry for tannin’ ye, and wish as it had ne’er happened. Will ye end my misery and forgive me then? Please, Claire.”

I turned round, gazing up into those sad blue eyes. “If I put this all behind me, how can I be certain that it won’t happen again?”

Jamie knelt in front of me, with his dirk held upright in both hands, his forehead pressed against the blade. “I swear to ye on the edge o’ this steel to ne’er touch ye in that manner agin. Henceforth, may I be struck dead if e’er I break this sacred oath.”

“Oh, you’ll be struck dead, most assuredly, as I also vow to cut out your heart if you ever dare strap me again.”

I removed the knife from his hands, and grabbing the titian tresses on his head, cooed,   
“Now come here, Scotty, and prove how much you’ve missed my company.”

In his excitement, he grabbed me unexpectedly, and I tumbled forward, landing flat on his chest. We both laughed in surprise, which quickly morphed into a series of panting breaths, rapid heartbeats, and roaming hands.

We furiously tore at each other’s clothing in our haste to be joined. I ashamedly thought to myself that I missed my Scotsman’s loving touch more than I cared to admit. And it was obvious to me, that the feeling was mutual, as his lips coaxed mine into submission.

Our need was such, that our lovemaking was over too quickly to suit me, but at least the fire that engulfed us was quenched for the time being. I rested comfortably in Jamie’s arms while he continued whispering words of Gaelic poetry in my ear, and nuzzling my neck and throat in a most delicious fashion. I earnestly hoped that it could always be like this, without a barrier of anger separating us from what should be a lifetime of happiness.

My heart all at once was overwhelmed by guilt. What was I thinking? What of Frank? Had I thrown him to the wind, to be forgotten as a dream upon waking? It was cruel of me, but with my bonny Scotch paramour, naked beside me, holding me fast, I could think of no other; Frank be damned.

**# # # # #**

I deeply regretted my actions that day. At the time, I was more concerned wi’ what the clan kent was a just punishment, than what it might do to my marriage wi’ Claire.  Why did I no accept her words o’ apology? It was nay small thin’ to be relegated to a corner o’ the floor, when I longed to share her bed. And it was a humiliatin’ experience to ken as I was nay longer welcome to lie wi’ her, as I had become accustomed to. My chest filled with an ache as only Claire could soothe, and I wandered like a lost child wi’out the comfort o’ a lovin’ home.

Lonely days passed, and my wife wouldna look nor speak to me, and that was the worst kind o’ loneliness. If only I could take back the blasted thin’ I’d done, and she would become my lovin’ wife once more.

Ever’ time I saw the lass, my heart would stand still, and I could feel the tears tryin’ to escape. I didna ken which way to turn, or what to do. Time away from her finally caused me to think as maybe our marriage should be different than those o’ my kin. Their wives were submissive to be sure, but were they content? Bein’ wi’ Claire these days past, made me realize as brute strength doesna make for a happy couple, and only brings ’bout resignation and resentment. If she would have me agin, I’d swear to her as I would change my ways.  I prayed to God as she would.

**. . . . .**

The guilt o’er my behavior, and the resultin’ situation of itall, overwhelmed any fear o’ speakin’ to the lass. If she wished to live apart from me, then so be it, but I had to ken what her intentions were. No wantin’ to wait any longer, I went to her one night as she sat brushin’ the locks o’ her hair. So beautiful was it, that I wished to touch one finger to a strand, but I kent as she was still verra annoyed wi’ me, but leastwise, I felt the need to place one hand opon the skin o’ her shoulder. Claire recoiled at my touch, bringin’ more sorrow to my heart.

Kneelin’ before her, I poured out my soul and pledged my troth to ne’er raise a hand in anger agin’ her from this time forth. Stars and stones, the woman forgave me, and I nearly cried in my joy. Our bodies joined in a heated rush, and all was once more comfortable betwixt us.

**# # # # #**

Frank felt a strange jolt of energy as some force pulled him to another time plane. He lay prostrate on the opposite side of the stone cleft, unconscious, and when he came to, he experienced a feeling of weakness and disorientation. He rose to his feet, but sick and dizzy, had to lie on the ground again. When his head cleared, he stood, brushing off his clothes, and started down the hill.

In the distance, he heard the sound of galloping hooves and men yelling to each other. They came into view, and Frank gasped. The men on horseback were wearing the red uniform of the 18th century British dragoons. Where in the bloody hell was he, or more correctly—when was he?

The troopers grew closer and ground to a halt on seeing Frank. They appeared to be as startled as he was. Looking back and forth between them, the leftenant shouted out, “Seize him!” Two soldiers leading the band immediately sprang from their animals and rushed forward to apprehend him. Their hands clamped tightly about his arms, while they walked the bewildered man toward the officer.

The leftenant huffed loudly. Turning in the saddle to his comrade in arms, he said, “What do you make of it, Robbie? Such a striking resemblance. Did you ever see the likes?”

“Not in my lifetime, sir. And what is that he’s wearing?”

“No bloody idea. I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. Best we take this chap to see the Captain.”

“Raaaather …”

Frank was jerked about and shoved toward a dray. Looking over his shoulder, the officer yelled, “Truss him up, then throw him in the supply wagon.”

As the men roughly attempted to toss him over the sideboards, Frank brayed, “See here. You can’t treat me like this. I am a British subject, and as such, I have rights.”

“Are you now?” one of them scoffed. “We’ll see about that, shan’t we?”

A man in the wagon helped to hoist Frank over the side and tied his hands securely behind his back. He then pushed him to a seated position and proceeded to manacle his feet as well.

“Where are you taking me?” Frank demanded.

“To see Cap’n Randall. He’ll know what’s to be done with you. He’s dealt with spies before.”

“I am not a spy, I assure you. I—”

His words were cut off as his captor stuffed a filthy wad of fabric into his mouth. What a fine pickle this was.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. A Disappointing Encounter

  

 

Disclaimer: D. Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander            Banner by LOS

**. . . . .**

While the cart jounced along the rutted highway, Frank had time to ruminate over his predicament, but one thing, in particular, stuck in his mind. His abductors had mentioned, Captain Randall. Could it possibly be? If, in fact, that was the case, what an extraordinary opportunity to meet with his illustrious progenitor. So, even though he was trussed up like a Christmas goose, he reveled in seeing history in the making. It made the hairs on his arms stand up at attention. He wished now that he had brought along a pen and a notepad.

They camped for the night, and the two men who first grabbed him, removed the wad from his mouth, untied his hands, and set down a dish of unpalatable food, and some water. The gag left a nasty taste on his tongue, and so contributed an unpleasant flavor to the already disagreeable cuisine. He hadn’t a bite all day, and so, being hungry he ate it nonetheless.

When he finished eating, the terrible two came back to retrieve the remains of his dinner, and replace the shackles to his wrists. They placed a bucket in the corner, for nature calls, along with a couple of thin blankets, muttering something under their breath all the while. Finally, the taller of the two, Charlie Hicks, said, “Stand up, Mr. Highty-tighty.”

Frank struggled to get to an upright position; the ropes tied around his hands and feet, making it difficult. Charlie shouted orders to his companion, Alfred. “Turn out his pockets. He may have a gold piece or two.”

Frank was at their mercy. What could he do? They rummaged through all his pockets and hooted as they found the gold. They looked puzzled at the fob with the dangling keys and threw them aside, but when they handled the seal case, Charlie blared, “Ho, ho, what have we here?”

He held up the pewter cylinder, and opened it, sliding out the seal. Charlie’s eyes widened. “JWR, hmmm …”

Worried that they would somehow damage the precious artifact, Frank snapped, “Give me that. It belongs to me. You can have the gold; I don’t give a care about the coins.”

“Huh,” Alfred huffed. “You think you have any say about it? You can bet your breeks, we’ll keep the gold, but this here seal goes to the leftenant.”

Charlie rolled the cylinder in his palm. “I know I’ve seen this before. JWR, Jonathan Wolverton Randall. The captain won’t be pleased to have some spy walk off with what’s rightfully his. I would chance to say he paid a good sum for it too.”

“I told you, I am not a spy.”

He felt the sting from a slap across his face, and then the rag was shoved into his mouth once more. Charlie smirked at him. “Did you enjoy that? I know I did.”

Hicks laughed at Frank’s discomfort and gestured to his friend. “Come along, Alfred. He needs to rest before the Cap’n has a go at him, eh?”

**. . . . .**

Despite the lack of comfortable surroundings and a sleepless night, Frank was anticipating his first meeting with the indomitable Jonathan Randall. The cart creaked along the road, and soon the towering hulk of Fort William loomed before him.

The soldiers all dismounted beyond the gates and goaded Frank forward. They French-walked him through the front entrance and up the stairs to Randall’s headquarters. The door was open, and the infamous Black Jack was seated behind a desk against the wall on the right. His feet were arrogantly propped upon it. He stood on their arrival, his back to them, while pushing his chair away from the desk.

“To what do I owe this intrusion, I said I—”

Randall turned about, and Frank froze on the spot. He was looking at his mirror image. The Captain’s mouth dropped open, but closed just as suddenly. “What the deuce? Who are you, and what are you doing with my face on your head? Gah! The impertinence of it all …”

The captain waved at the men. “Leave us.”

He walked forward and nearly pressed his nose against Frank’s. “You could be my twin, however, I know you are not. I should know if I had a twin.”

Scrutinizing Frank up and down, he rubbed his fingers along his mouth. “This has turned out to be an exceedingly interesting day. A man is brought before me, wearing my face. I can’t have that. Why, it’s unacceptable.”

Swaggering in a circle around Frank, he said, “Perhaps I could burn that countenance off of you, or flay bits open with my blade. You choose. Which will it be?”

Leaning his head toward Frank, he murmured in his ear. “I’m partial to the blade, myself. It’s more artistic, wouldn’t you agree? What? Speak up, man, I can’t hear you.”

Frank began coughing to alert the Captain that he was unable to speak. Black Jack whipped around and zeroed in on Frank’s mouth. “Ah-ha.”

He pulled Frank’s bottom lip down, and caught a string of the fabric with the nails of two fingers, drawing it out. Tossing the rag over his shoulder, he brushed his hands together. “There, now, perhaps we can establish some specifics, in particular; who are you, and where did you come from?”

Being an expert in evading questions during interrogation, Frank thought it prudent to use Claire’s maiden name. “It’s Franklin Beechum, from Oxfordshire.”

Randall jerked slightly, his eyes narrowed. “Hmn … Beechum. Coincidentally, I’ve heard that name recently in fact. I didn’t believe the spy who spoke that name. I didn’t believe it then, and I don’t believe it now. We can do better than that, can’t we?”

Frank stared straight at the man. “I fear that’s the best I can do.”

“I think not.”

The captain bent over, picking up a riding crop set near his desk, and fondled it, lovingly. Holding it up for Frank to view, he said, “Have you ever seen such craftsmanship? It’s a work of creative brilliance.

“Leather … I greatly admire the look and feel of leather. Would you like to feel it?” He laughed. “Of course you can’t, not with your hands all bound such as they are.”

He struck Frank sharply on the cheek with the crop. “How does _that_ feel? Would you like another taste, or would you prefer to tell me who you really are?”

In shock, Frank blinked, and composing himself, retorted, “I told you. I am Franklin Beechum, and a servant of his majesty, the king.”

“I don’t doubt that, but it stands to reason you may be a servant of _another_ king. You are a spy, and a traitor, sir. And I shall see you hanged.”

He whipped the crop across Frank’s face several times, and the poor man’s eyes teared with the pain. “Tell me who you are,” he shouted. “Tell me!”

Frank stoically remained silent, which infuriated Randall further. He threw the crop onto the desk, and balled up one hand, striking a blow to Frank’s abdomen, then kicked his tethered feet out from under him, causing him to fall to the floor.

A guard came in unannounced. “Sir, the Watch is here. They say it’s urgent that they speak with you.”

“Dash it all … always spoiling my fun.” He waved his hand at the guard. “Take this fellow away. He is to be locked up, and no food or water for twenty-four hours. Is that clear, private?”

“Yessir.”

He walked over to Frank, and kicking him in the ribs with the toe of his boot, sneered, “I’m not through with you yet, Beechum, or whatever the hell your name is. Far from it. And when I am done, you _will_ tell me the truth.”

**. . . . .**

The guard shoved him into a dank, dark cell, and pointing a pistol at Frank with one hand, removed the ropes with the other. He backed out, never wavering from his target, and shut the barred door. “Rufus will come and clap the irons on you,” he said a little too cheerfully.

Bewildered and disappointed, Frank sat in his cell, staring at the grey wall, and furiously working on a plan to escape. His encounter with his once revered ancestor was decidedly not what he expected. His esteem for the man was dashed to pieces. How could he possibly be related to that madman? It was unthinkable.

His cheeks stung, his ribs ached, and his heart was heavy. He had to get away from this place.

**# # # # #**

He had been gone five days now; cattle thieving no doubt. The MacLauchlans had gotten in a new herd recently, and Jamie and his lot of cattle rustlers were out and about gathering them for the MacKenzies, to put it mildly. While I didn’t condone this line of work, I prayed they wouldn’t get caught _in flagrante delicto_. Not so surprisingly, Colum was well apprised of the practice and lent a blind eye to the venture. I noticed he did not complain when the bill of fare at Leoch included loin of beef.

I asked Jamie once while at dinner, how he could in good conscience sup on meat that was knowingly poached off the MacLauchlan’s land. His flippant response was: “Meat tastes all the better when it’s been stolen, aye?”

I thwacked his shoulder playfully. I wondered though if the wronged party would pay a visit to Leoch and demand that their cattle be returned or restitution made.

“But won’t the MacLauchlans come looking for the missing cows?”

“Nay … we werena seen, nor heard. We were verra careful to snatch only the ones as hadna been branded yet as well.” He patted his stomach. “Leastwise, we’re eaten most all of them.”

“Lucky for you,” I spouted as my eyes rolled about.

**. . . . .**

The fifth day came and went, and my worries for Jamie’s safety multiplied. I kept myself busy, cataloging and doing inventory on my supplies of tinctures and herbs. On the sixth day, I had just finished taking account of several bottles and tins on my workstation when I heard the familiar click of his boots on the stone floor outside the surgery. Looking up from the table, I saw my red-haired giant striding toward me in a most purposeful manner.  

“Sassenach,” he brayed. “Stars and stones, I missed ye so.”

Before I could utter a word, his lips were on mine while brushing aside my previous task, scattering the glass vials and tins to the floor. They landed in a heap of broken shards and spilled contents. Incredibly, he had me bent over backwards on the table.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! What, here?”

“Aye. I’m in great need o’ ye woman.”

“Let’s not be hasty. We do have a room upstairs, and this table is unsuitable for what you have in mind. And … it will most certainly leave splinters in my bum.”

“Ah, I see the truth o’ it. So, will ye come wi’ me, then?”

Gesturing at the floor, I said, “Of course. I’ll just clean this up first.”

“Nay, I’m in a hurry to have ye, ken?”

“Well, let go of me, and allow me to get up.”

Murtagh burst into the room. “Christ, I heard the stramash, and came soon as I could.”

“Thank you, Murtagh, but as you can plainly see, it’s only your clot-headed godson, Jamie, coming to claim his wife.”

The poor man colored, murmuring, “Oh, I’ll be on my way then.” He sheepishly left the room, and Jamie and I continued out of the surgery and on up the staircase toward the next business at hand.

**. . . . .**

When we concluded our necessary conjugal pleasures, I took Jamie with me to clean up the mess he made.

“Really, Jamie, you couldn’t wait another couple of minutes?”

“I’m sorry for the trouble I caused, but I’m no sorry for wantin’ ye so. I felt as I was gonta burst wi’ the need o’ ye.”

Clicking my tongue, I replied, “Well, I imagine you’d be no use to anyone if you burst apart on me. Now, go get the whisk broom, and I’ll get a wet rag.”

We swept and mopped up the broken fragments and spoiled herbs. I turned to Jamie, “You do realize that I’ll have to visit Inverness, specifically, the apothecary shop to replenish all the stock you ruined.”

“Ah … eye o’ newt and toe o’ frog, aye?”

I finished the rest of the quote:

“Wool of bat and tongue of dog,   
Adder’s fork and blind worm’s sting,  
Lizard’s leg and owlet’s wing,  
For a charm of powerful trouble,  
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.”

Nodding my head, I clarified, “I know my Shakespeare also. But in this case, I’m sure to be in need of tincture of hartshorn, and a vial of thuja occidentalis, in addition to slips of yew.”

“Weel, ye’ll no be goin’ there alone, witch or no. I’ll be comin’ wi’ ye. My dirk and sword as weel.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Scotty.”

 


	5. A Daring Escape

  

Banner by LOS

**. . . . .**

The man, supposedly named Rufus, was a big brute. He walked into the cell carrying a sledgehammer. It wasn’t too difficult to surmise that it was to pound the pegs into the iron cuffs for placement of the padlocks. In a panic now, Frank quickly devised a plan. He widened his eyes as in shock, looking at the man’s feet.

“A rat!”

The man didn’t appear to be too bright. “Where? I don’t see one.”

Frank pointed. “Behind you.”

Rufus looked down behind him, giving Frank the chance to swing both fists to the back of the man’s neck, and he fell forward, hitting his head on the stone tiles. Rufus was out for the count. He then removed the keys from the man’s belt and picked up the hammer to use as a weapon if needed. He immediately exited the room and locked it behind him.

Frank had been within the walls of Fort William several times in his own era, and had more than an inkling of all the various door locations. He was out the one at the rear and running for his life before any alarm could be sounded. Miraculously, he managed to avoid contact with any of the guards. Much too complacent, he thought, yet grateful for their laxity. He wouldn’t wish to be in their boots when Captain Randall discovered his prize had escaped.

**# # # # #**

No sooner had the Watch concluded their meeting with the Captain, when Leftenant Hill rapped at the door post and peered inside. “May I?”

“What _is_ it, Hill? Interruption after interruption … Can’t a man have a moment of peace in his own blasted headquarters?”

Hill cleared his throat, and swallowed, nervously. He stepped forward. “Excuse me, sir, but I deemed this to be of interest to you.” The leftenant placed the seal in Randall’s palm.

The captain blinked in astonishment. “Where, may I ask, did you come by _this_?”

“It was in the pocket of that chap we brought to you today.”

Randall abruptly sat down behind his desk, and rummaged through a drawer, drawing out his seal. His brows knit in confusion. “Curiouser and curiouser. They’re unquestionably identical.”

He waved the leftenant away. “What are you doing? Don’t just stand there, man. Get one of the guards to bring the prisoner here. I want answers. Now!”

Staring back and forth between the two objects, he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. How was it possible? This was his own personal seal. It never left this room, and yet here was an exact copy that was found in the possession of the spy in the peculiar looking clothes.

**. . . . .**

The Leftenant and a guard returned a few minutes later. Randall looked up, annoyed that the prisoner was nowhere to be seen. “Well, were is he? Why haven’t you brought him?”

The guard glanced at the leftenant, and explained, “Sorry sir. I don’t know how it happened, but we found the cell empty except for Rufus. The spy was gone, and Rufus was laid out cold.”

Placing the seals side by side on his blotter, the captain stared up at the corbelled ceiling. “Gah! I am surrounded by blithering idiots.” He struck his fist hard on the surface of his desk, sending the documents he was reading previously, flying off, and landing on the floor. “Rufus—that incompetent fool. I’ll have his head for this. Perhaps I should have the oaf fetter himself for his complete lack of common sense.

“Leave me, and don’t come back unless you have information of Beechum’s whereabouts. Better yet, send out a search party—four men. I want him brought back alive, or the man responsible for his death will suffer the same fate. Is that understood?”

They both replied, “Yessir,” and saluted as they backed out the door.

Ignorant buffoons, all of them. How could that Beechum fellow sneak by the guards undetected? Hmn … there was more to this man than met the eye. Perchance he should keep him close to his bosom and glean what he could from the association. He obviously outsmarted his own men. The Captain had to grant him a begrudging admiration for his escape. Not many could boast the same. He wondered though, how far the suspect would travel, being on foot.

Randall slumped in his chair, pushing against the backrest, and crossing his feet at the ankles. He sat there for a few minutes, thinking. Hanging the curious spy would be such a wasteful endeavor. In the long run, this particular prisoner might prove to be useful

He stood and went to his cabinet. Retrieving a decanter, he poured himself a stiff drink. The scum called Scotsmen—while detested by himself and most of the English Empire—did, in fact, distill the most sought-after whiskey available. While the golden liquid slid down his gullet, he thought, _Strewth! A most interesting day, indeed._

**# # # # #**

Frank cursed himself for getting caught, but most of all for losing the precious seal. Ah, well, it couldn’t be helped. When he returned to his own time, maybe it would turn up again. After meeting his ancestor, would he really even want to own the damn thing?

This whole time-travel experience was mind-boggling to say the least. He just wanted to find Claire, and unfortunately, it seemed it would take a great deal longer than he had ever anticipated. With no money and no more amenable means of travel, the undertaking took on a rather daunting perspective.

He kept away from the main roads, sticking to the small paths in the wooded areas. His stomach was protesting incessantly with every step he took. If only Claire was with him, she could point out which berries and mushrooms were edible. Picking up a brown-capped fungus near a tall Larch, he scrutinized it, turning it this way and that. Would it kill him if he ate it? At this point, did he even care? But if he died, then Claire would have to remain here at the mercy of this undisciplined, uneducated era.

Throwing the questionable food into the bracken, he forged ahead and came to a group of small cottages situated back from the road. One of them had a vegetable garden, and shamefully, he pulled up a couple of carrots and washed them off in a nearby stream. He never much cared for carrots, but at this very moment, they seemed to him a delicious treat.

Continuing on his way, he noticed the curtains move in one of the windows. Had the owner seen him? He hurried on, hoping the troopers wouldn’t stop to interrogate whoever lived there.

It started to rain, and his spirits deflated with the downpour. He took shelter in an abandoned church. How appropriate. Never a very religious person, he nonetheless got down on his knees and poured out his heart to the almighty. The house of the Lord at least was dry and comparatively warm. Lying down, he decided to rest awhile; no use wearing himself out. Claire could be anywhere, and he couldn’t even ascertain his _own_ location. Damn, damn, damn!

**. . . . .**

Inadvertently, he fell asleep, and when he awoke, night had already fallen. He got up quickly and peered out the window casement. The rain had stopped.

Needing to put as much distance between Fort William and himself, he pushed on, walking all through the night. Dragging along that twenty-pound hammer slowed him down substantially. Normally, it wouldn’t have been so cumbersome, but in his deplorable condition, it felt like a millstone about his neck. Once or twice he considered tossing it away, but that would’ve left him defenseless against any attackers. In this time period, who knew what ruffians lurked about ready to pounce on him.

Night faded, and the light sifted down through the treetops, making the journey a bit easier. After a couple more hours, he caught a glimpse of a roadside marker. Inverness was plainly written across it. Anyone following his trail would search there first, so he sped up his pace to put the town behind him.

Miles later, he heard horses and shouting. He scurried, hiding among the bushes. A dog began barking and coming toward him. One of the riders dismounted—bloody hell, it was a dragoon. The trooper walked closer to see what the dog had found. He spotted Frank and yelled to his comrades. Two others joined the first soldier.

He couldn’t go back there—not that prison cell. In a frenzy, Frank began wielding the hammer, but the click of a pistol being cocked halted his desperate attempt at resistance. “Well, well, well, we meet again, eh?”

He recognized the man’s voice. It was Charlie Hicks. “Cap’n Randall’s none too pleased that you flew the coop. So if you don’t mind, we’ll be taking you back to Fort William.”

The corporal in charge sat up in the saddle and sneered at him. “I must say. You gave us a rather jolly romp through the highlands. Still, we did find you, didn’t we?

“Hicks, tie him up, and put him on the cart.”

What a snafu. He was right back where he started. The cart was the very same one, the troopers were nearly the same men, the only thing different appeared to be a cleaner handkerchief from the corporal that was stuffed in his mouth.

**. . . . .**

Skirting the streets of Inverness in the wagon, he lurched forward, and noticed a woman with dark curly hair, smiling and chatting with a tall red-headed man beside her. Claire—it was Claire. He tried to get her attention, but with his hands tied together, he couldn’t wave, and shouting her name was impossible.

He resigned himself to the fact that he’d escaped the fort once. He could do it again, and this time, he’d have some notion of where to find his wife.

**# # # # #**

It was one of those lovely days when the sun actually had the good sense to peek out from the clouds; a day perfect for shopping in Inverness. On the way to the apothecary, Jamie took me to a sweet shoppe and bought me some marzipan.

“Would ye like a bit o’ chocolate as weel?”

“Don’t get me started,” I whined. “If I bite into one piece, I’ll always want more, and Inverness is far away from Leoch.”

I took him by the hand and strolled with him out the door.

“It’s no that far, Sassenach. I can be there and back wi’in the day.”

Laughing, I told him, “That’s really generous of you, but you’ll need a wagon-load to keep me in chocolate.”

With a straight face, he deadpanned, “Can ye no conjure some op in yer surgery?”

“It’s a surgery, not a _chocolaterie_ , silly boy.”

Coincidentally, just then, a dray passed by, not filled with chocolate, but with a man I thought I recognized. He was sitting in the back of the cart, accompanied by two guards. It definitely wasn’t that odious Black Jack Randall, but he resembled my Frank so much as to be disconcerting. It wasn’t logical; it couldn’t be Frank. There was no possible way he could find his way here.

Jamie turned to me, clearly concerned by the expression on my face. “Is the walkin’ too much for ye? Ye look a wee bit reely wally. We can sit awhile if need be.”

“No, no, I’m fine. I just thought … Never mind. It’s nothing. We’d better get on to the apothecary.”

“Aye, ye ne’er ken when ye might be needin’ a love potion or two.”

My eyebrows rose. “Not that you’d need any.”

A grin played across his lips. “Nay … I expect as the spell ye cast o’er me will last a lifetime.”

“I certainly hope so,” I jested.

We journeyed to the shoppe to resupply my white willow bark, tansy oil, and sundry others. The whole time, I had trouble concentrating on the herbs and tinctures I was to purchase; the sight of the prisoner in that cart still foremost in my mind.

 

 

 


	6. Dinner with a Madman

  

 

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**. . . . .**

It was disconcerting to say the least. That man had been facing me, his eyes wild, staring. My sleep was fitful, the sight of him passing to and fro onto the stage of my mind. I couldn’t dismiss the thoughts as merely figments of my imagination.

At the table the next morning, Jamie noticed me picking at my breakfast. “The food isna to yer likin’, Sassenach?”

“No, it’s fine, I assure you.”

“What is it then? Ye’ve no been yerself since our travels to Inverness.”

“Oh, bloody hell. I may as well tell you. There was a cart that passed by us when we were out and about. Remember when you commented on how I paled at one point? The man in the back of the dray, a prisoner—I swear to you, Jamie, he looked like my Frank. I know it’s utterly impossible, but I can’t seem to shake it.”

“So, ye think as perchance ye’d seen a ghost?”

“If you will.”

My Scotty was perfectly serious in the discussion at hand; his lake-blue eyes, clear and thoughtful. Drumming his fingers on the table, he replied, “Ah … leastwise, I expect as that would be a bit disturbin’. Ye believe in the spirits then, aye?”

“Not especially. It defies all reason, but …”

“Ye canna explain it.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

“Dinna fash, Claire. Someday when we’re gone from this earth, we’ll sort it out, ken.”

“I certainly hope so.”

**# # # # #**

He heard the leader of this rabble shout at one of the men to go on ahead and apprise the captain of their imminent arrival.

Two of the troopers roughly dragged him to his feet and French walked him through the entrance and down the stone steps to the prison cells. Throwing him into one that was unoccupied, they chuckled while Charlie yanked the handkerchief from Frank’s mouth, then clanked the iron doors shut.

Black Jack in the meantime, told the messenger, “I want food for two brought to the assembly room. Then you are to bring Beechum there as soon as the meal is set on the table.”

The man appeared confused. Was Randall speaking in another language? “Sir?”

“What is it you’re not comprehending? I said, Bring. The. Prisoner. To. Me, in the assembly room. There, now was that so difficult?”

“No sir, I mean ... I’ll see to it.”

“See that you _do_!”

**. . . . .**

Three guards came to retrieve him. Was escaping these prison walls a hanging offense? No matter. What difference could it possibly make? Frank was erroneously suspected of being a spy. Erroneous or not—that in, and of itself, was grounds to summon the hangman. Swallowing thickly, he thought, what an ignominious conclusion to an otherwise less than illustrious life! So many things he wanted to accomplish, and now his world had crumbled around him, on foreign soil, and in an altogether different time period.

Putting up no resistance whatsoever, he walked meekly along with his captors, like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter.

Frank half expected to be led to the gibbet, instead, he was guided up the stone staircase to a room arranged with chairs surrounding a large rectangular table. On the table, itself, was spread a variety of food and dinnerware. Was the captain expecting him as a guest? Was this to be his last meal?

Looking about at the lavish presentation, he realized its significance and promptly lost his appetite. There were slices of beef, fruit, cooked vegetables and freshly baked bread. Amazingly, a bottle of red wine also graced the display. Well, he wouldn’t mind the wine so much, but wished it had been something stronger ... much stronger.

Randall stood there behind the sumptuous banquet, beaming diabolically, his arms extended outward at either side of his body. Dropping his arms, the captain nodded at the guards, and commanded, “Rid this man of his manacles, and then you men may wait outside. He’s not foolhardy enough to attempt another fruitless escape, not with armed troopers at the door with their pistols at the ready.”

He glared at Frank, “Now would you?”

Stunned, Frank shook his head, while his fetters were removed.

“Observe … docile as a lamb. Now rid us of yourselves, our food is getting cold.”

Frank’s host waved the guards away, and they left the room. Randall stepped forward. “There’s soap and a washbasin on the sideboard behind you. Wash up, and join me for dinner. Surely you must be famished by now.”

**. . . . .**

Famished or not, he hesitated to seat himself after washing his hands and face. He stood quietly beside a chair. Finding his voice, he cleared his throat and remarked, “You must realize that I cannot help but question your motives.”

Randall canted his head. “Ah, yes, and rightly so, as I do have ulterior motives.”

Gesturing to Frank, he urged, “Sit down, sit down, and we’ll discuss it like gentlemen. It’s not often that I have the pleasure of dining with an equal.”

Frank took a seat and Randall did the same, so that they were facing each other. He waited for the captain to continue.

“Go ahead, help yourself to something. I assure you, it’s not been tampered with. It would be repugnant for me to stoop so low as to poison my foes. What’s the fun in that? Anyone of my associates could slip it into the food. I want my enemies to be certain without a doubt, who to attribute their demise. I truly enjoy witnessing the expression on one’s face when I run him through. Holding a man’s life in the thrust of my sword gives me a thrill I cannot describe in mere words.”

Appalled by the musings of Randall, Frank, nevertheless tried to remain calm. The captain was madder than the March Hare, a psychotic of some prestige, who reveled in the pain of others. He couldn’t fathom it, nevertheless, it was true.

Frank skewered a slice of beef, his hands shaking from his previous lack of sustenance. With a few bits deposited in his stomach, he looked up at his dining companion. Randall stared back at him and placed the seal on the table.

“I’m very curious as to how you procured an exact duplicate of my personal seal.”

Randall then put its twin beside it.

Poor Frank nearly choked on his next bite. He’d have to come up with a plausible explanation.

“I had no idea there were two of them until this very moment. The silversmith swore to me the seal was one of a kind, and that the person who commissioned the work never came by to collect it.”

Fingering one of the cases, Randall said, “It’s of no use to you. Why would you purchase a seal with someone else’s monogram inscribed upon it?”

“I … I was intrigued by the design of the case. Curiosities are a hobby of mine. I thought I might be able to sell it in the future for a profit.”

The captain locked eyes with Frank. “Hmn … Yet, it seems as it has profited you nothing.  But you alluded to your hobbies. Is fabricating far-fetched tales one of them by chance?

“You need not answer that. I _will_ get to the bottom of this sooner or later. Eat up, Beechum, I’m taking you with me, morning next. I’ve had rumors of skirmishes over by Balachulish Creek. You seem a clever chap. Perhaps you could be of use to us to squelch the Highland scum.”

Randall’s gaze raked up and down Frank’s body. “I’m afraid you cannot go anywhere with that type of apparel, however. It won’t do at all. I’ll see about getting you something more in keeping with the current fashion, such as it is.

“When you’ve finished dinner, the guards will see you to your room. Don’t attempt anything stupid. There will be sentries outside your door. They have their orders, and they’d rather obey them than incur my wrath. I’d hate to see you dead at their hands, but some things can’t be helped.”

# # # # #

Laoghaire had placed some sort of fetish under my mattress. It was only due to the jouncing of the bed boards during our coupling that it had jarred loose, and was discovered lying on the floor. My suspicions were correct, for when I confronted her, she confessed.

“Aye. It was me as placed the thin’ in yer room. I dinna deny it. Ye stole my Jamie from me, and I’d go to hell or high water to get him back from the likes o’ a Sassenach bitch.”

I slapped her soundly and immediately regretted it. She held her palm to the red hand-print splotched on her cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that, but don’t let me catch you in our room, or near Jamie again. Is that clear?”

The girl glared at me with hate-filled eyes, but said nothing. She turned and stormed off to heaven knows where.

**. . . . .**

I didn’t realize the depths of ill feelings the girl had for me, until I was tried for witchcraft. I didn’t believe she did either. Thankfully, Jamie ever the daring young man, rescued me the second time, even as I was being brutally attacked by the superstitious mob.

My corset had been torn asunder, and stripes being applied to the bare skin on my back. Appearing out of nowhere, he sliced through the crowd brandishing a broadsword in each hand.

“I’ll thank ye to leave off, lest ye have a wish to meet yer maker this day.” With his head swiveling about, and his eyes darting here and there, no one was courageous enough to call his bluff.

The hands holding me loosened, and then Geillis shouted above them all, exonerating me as a practicing sorcerous. She stood straight as a poker, with her head held high, and spoke with the voice of authority. “This woman is nay a witch. She was under my spell, and innocent o’ the charges agin’ her. But beware for yerselves, for I am a witch, and I shall have my revenge as Satan is my witness.”

The crowd rushed toward her, carrying her to her doom, while Jamie ran outside with me before the jurors changed their minds. My Scotsman stopped only long enough to cover me with his plaid, then the horses galloped forward until we came to a clearing near a stream.

Jamie had put himself in harm’s way to stop the flogging, and this time, I decided that he deserved to know the secret I had for so long kept from him. After he administered to the wounds on my back, I blurted the whole story of my time travels.

“Jamie, you know I’m not a witch, don’t you?”

“Aye, ye ken how t’others would think as much tho’.There’s nay explainin’ how ye ken so much ’bout what’s to come, and herbs and healin’ and such.”

I lowered my head, not able to look my noble savior in the eye. “I owe you my life, not once, but twice now. The time has come for the truth. It’s very difficult to tell you this, but I came through the stones of Craigh na Dun. I don’t know how, or why, but this _time_ , right now, is past history to me. That’s how I’m familiar with plants and medical knowledge. That’s how I can predict what will happen. I’m from the future, Jamie, whether you believe it or not. And my husband Frank is waiting for me to return to 1945. I told you he was not alive. The truth is … he’s not yet been born.”  

My Highlander was quiet, his face a blank slate, the color of chalk. I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t believe my tale. It was incredible even to me.

**# # # # #**

I did believe as my wife _believed_ what she told me. As to its veracity, weel, I didna ken for sure. That was to be seen. I resolved to take Claire to the stones, and puzzle it out for myself, whether or no it was true. I hoped as it wasna, for I ne’er wished to be separated from the lass; to live alone, and brokenhearted ’til my dyin’ breath.

 

 

 

 


	7. Randall 1, Randall 2

  

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**. . . . .**

They rode three abreast, Frank being sandwiched between two guards, and hemmed in front and rear with more. Halfway to their destination, they were ambushed by a mob of deserters. They were surrounded on all sides and outnumbered two to one. The men were a filthy lot, clothed in stained, frayed uniforms, with a hungry look in their eyes, and their weapons trained on each and every man of Randall’s small company.

The leader, a rough looking customer, spurred his horse forward through the formation and stopped in front of the captain. He smirked, confident of the success of his plan. “Well, what have we here? Captain Randall, is it now? Quite a prize.” Looking over his shoulder at the men behind him, he brayed, “What say you, lads? Shall we keep him for ransom?”

The _ayes_ went up all around. He thumped his index finger against the side of his temple, glaring at the redcoats. “But first things first … Empty your pockets, all of you, and no one will taste a bullet.”

Faster than lightning, Randall drew out a pistol hidden in the rear waistband of his breeches and shot the brigand square in the forehead.

“How does that taste?” he roared.

The remaining deserters were stunned for an instant, then all hell broke loose. The bullets were flying about, and the troopers groaning as the projectiles found their fleshy targets. In the thick of the battle, Randall shouted, “Someone hand Beechum a bloody rifle, for god’s sake.”

A rifle flew across to Frank, who snatched it up and began firing. Being an excellent marksman, he picked off two or three of the attackers, almost immediately. His accomplishment did not go unnoticed by the captain.

With Frank firing along with the troops and hitting one mark after another, the odds were quickly turning to Randall’s favor, and the remnant of the ambush party broke, turned tail, and fled back into the hills.

The skirmish had rapidly concluded and Randall was constrained to return to Fort William for the proper care of the wounded ... men and animals.

**# # # # #**

Yes, indeed. Beechum, whoever he was, certainly proved his value on the field of battle. From that day henceforth, Randall kept his secret weapon close to his bosom. With every bivouac, every reconnaissance mission, he was certain to have the man always at the ready. That was not to say that he trusted him, though; Frank was guarded continually. He’d also been given a pistol, minus ammunition. If the need arose, a supply could be given to him in short order.

**# # # # #**

The verra distasteful task fell to me to take Sassenach to Craigh na Dun. I didna tell her where we were headed ’til the verra stones loomed afore us. I kent as she would be o’ two minds ’bout the journey back to her own time, and might fight agin’ my decision. Tho’ my heart was breakin’, I would do what must be doon, heartbreak or no.

I helped Claire down from Donas, and tethered the animal at the base o’ the hill. She looked at me, confusion floodin’ her eyes. “What are we doing here, Jamie?”

My voice began to crack under the strain, and I forced out, “Ye told me as your Frank is waitin’ for ye in another time. I canna keep ye here agin yer will, so I’m returnin’ ye to him.

“I expect this is where ye were headed when the redcoats found ye and carted ye off to Black Jack.”

I could see it in her eyes. She kent as I spoke the truth.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! You’re not going to abandon me here, are you?”

“Aye. It’s a bitter thin’ to watch ye vanish from afore my eyes, and I willna do it. So, I’ll go down to the cabin at the foot o’ the hill, to be sure ye’re safe away, then ride to Leoch in the morn.’

Wi’ my head hangin’ in sorrow, I admitted, “I love ye, Claire, and I dinna regret spendin’ a single, wee moment in yer presence. It was my honor to be yer husband. Forbye, now, I must let ye go.”

She mumbled somethin’ ’bout my bein’ an obstinate, Scottish dunderheid. I’d expected as much from my spirited wife, but that didna deter me from doin’ what was right and proper.

Crushin’ her to my chest, I hugged her wi’ ever’ fiber o’ my bein’ for this would be the last time I could do so. I lifted my head from her neck, gazin’ into the eyes o’ my bonny lass, and nearly fell to my knees. In the short time as I kent her, I came to love her most tenderly, wi’ a love I would ne’er share agin.

I reached out and touched her lips, lightly tracin’ the outline o’ her mouth, then pressed mine agin’ hers, pretendin’ as she was still mine fore’er. Gently pushin’ her away, I murmured, “Goodbye, mo nighean donn. Ye’re free to be wi’ yer Frank and godspeed to ye.” 

As quickly as I could, I caught op the reins o’ my horse, mounted the beast, and scuddered off to the cabin below wi’out lookin’ back.

I hobbled Donas and entered the cottage, almost trippin’ o’er the threshold, so blinded was I by my tears. I lay down on a straw pallet as was agin’ the wall, and let the tears flow.

**# # # # #**

Wasn’t this what I wanted all these months … to return to my husband, Frank? I had caused great risk of harm to Jamie and his kin when I had set foot here just weeks ago, but now? I thought of my sweet Scotsman, concerned about who would be there to tend to his wounds and soothe his worried brow in the weeks to come.

Jamie was essentially alone, at Leoch; his cousin Murtagh and sister, Jenny, his only living relatives. Dougal and Colum, of course, were uncles, but it was clear that _one_ , in particular, wanted him out of the way ... to prevent his succession as Laird. Frank had his parents and numerous relatives. There were also his peers at the college who he had a close association with.

As I sat upon the grass, I kept visioning Jamie; his curly, Titian mane blowing in the breeze, his startling blue eyes gazing at me in an endearing, and frequently unnerving manner. Looking down at my hands, the glint of Jamie’s ring leapt out at me. It was the key to Lallybroch that Rupert had the blacksmith fashion into a wedding band. It was such a sentimental gesture. I should’ve given it back to Jamie, but for the life of me, I couldn’t bring myself to remove it.

Sitting there for hours, I wrestled with myself internally. The way home was standing right behind me, but I couldn’t shore up the courage to go. It was unthinkable to I leave him, knowing what he had done for me.

Darkness was beginning to fall, and a full moon arose in the sky. I suddenly made a decision, got up and ran down the hill to the cabin. On entering, I noted my Scotsman lying on a pallet, facing the wall.

Kneeling beside him, I pulled on his shoulder, rolling him toward me. By the light of the moon, I saw the tracks of the tears covering his cheeks. His eyes popped open, red and swollen from crying.

“Sassenach, why are ye no gone yet?”

“Oh, I suppose it’s because I’m in love with you, Scotty.”

He jerked upright. “Ye love me then? Truly?”

“Yes, truly. I won’t go back. I can’t leave you.”

Jamie let out a choked sob and buried his head in the tangled mass of curls covering my shoulder. Then, our lips met, and our raw emotions took over. We spent the night on the pallet, locked in an embrace, in that little cabin beneath the stone circle at Craigh na Dun.

**# # # # #**

Randall was no longer determined to send Frank to the gallows, however … he wasn’t careless enough to leave him without a shadow following the man around either. It was the routine that whither the captain went, there he would be also. There was no choice to be made.

On several occasions, it got so that the troops would get confused, and ask Frank for direct orders. The only way to tell them apart was the appearance of the tricorn on Randall’s head—that and the rude, demanding tone of his voice. Surprisingly, Black Jack seemed to find it all very amusing, and would frequently remove the adornment just to see what would play out.

One early morning, Randall called two of his men into his quarters, and said, “You two, take this missive to the supply master, then meet me in the assembly room.”

When his troops left, he went to see Frank, who was just arising from his bed, and instructed, “Put on your uniform and boots, and come with me to the assembly room.”

Scowling at Frank, and waving his arms about, he amended, “Make it quick, man. I haven’t got all day!”

Frank was now so used to Randall’s turn of phrase and affectations, that he could mimic it easily. _Make it quick, man. I haven’t got all day!_ Never would he dare attempt it in the captain’s presence though. There was still a scaffold in the courtyard, with plenty of rope available to snuff out his life. The captains' moods could change instantaneously, and he was not about to risk the man’s displeasure.

Walking behind the captain, Frank was led into the room and seated in a chair. “Sit down and place your feet on the table.”

“What?”

“Just do as I say, Beechum. Two of my men are arriving at any moment. I want you to tell them, _Well, well, finally. I’ve been waiting … quite a while, in fact. Did you stop at the pub on the way?_ ”

Randall left, and Frank sat there, perplexed; feet crossed at the ankles on top of the table, watching the door. The man was stark-raving, mad, no doubt about it.

Two troopers entered, looking at him nervously. Frank delivered his line in a blustery fashion. One of them replied, “Sorry, sir, the quartermaster wasn’t there, and we had to find someone to receive the orders.”

The captain swaggered in, laughing. The men’s eyes widened at the sight, and Randall laughed all the harder. He abruptly stopped, and arms akimbo, blared, “What the devil are you staring at? You men are dismissed. Now go!”

Frank shook his head. What in the world was that all about?

“Good show, Beechum. I enjoy having my very own court jester. But enough fun for one day. Get your filthy feet off the table. I shall return you to your room, and you are to get out the boot polish. Those are not fit to be seen in His Majesty’s army.”

As he sauntered toward the door, he halted, and turning his head, exclaimed, “Strewth, must I charge you in every detail? At least, demonstrate _some_ initiative.”

**. . . . .**

Sitting on his cot, Frank brushed his boots in a frenzy, then applied the polish. Imagine … a university professor reduced to a bootblack. Would he ever get out from under the hawk-eyes of Randall? He had to find Claire and bring her home, but how could he do that when he was being held prisoner by this insane monster?

There had to be some way to escape. It was his duty, just as much as it was for those soldiers he taught during the war. Frank continued rubbing the polish into the leather, his mind churning about with plans of escape. He hadn’t lit upon one feasible enough, but it would come to him by and by. Randall had to let down his guard at some point.

 

 

 


	8. First Blood

 

 

Disclaimer: D. Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander              Banner by LOS

**. . . . .**

The captain was on his way with a small company of men to collect some army supplies for them. Uniforms and leather goods were in demand; but especially, brass buttons. After all, these accouterments needed to be replaced on occasion. That afternoon, ironically, the same brigands that attacked before were bearing down on them. What a predicament. This time, Randall was riding in the rear, so he could personally keep tabs on his secret weapon. As he saw the approaching deserters, he quickly tossed his tricorn and some ammunition to Frank, then pulled on his reins and charged down a ravine at breakneck speed away from his troops, the bloody coward. So much for keeping tabs on his _charge._

Unthinking, Frank began loading his pistol and was ready just in time to start firing when the ambushers arrived. The gang of thieves had miraculously amassed a larger body of men, and without a rifle available to him, the battle was essentially one-sided. He sustained a neck wound in mere minutes. There he was in the thick of it, hampered by trying to stanch the flow of blood with the fingers of his left hand and fire his gun at the same time with the other. In the middle of the melee, he heard more horses approaching, and _great Caesar’s_ _ghost_ —the men on horseback were outfitted in kilts and tartans—Highlanders.

The Scotsmen chased off the deserters, who wanted no part of that scene. But what happened next was a blur, as Frank fell from his horse, faint from lack of blood.

**# # # # #**

Angus and Rupert were sent on ahead to scope out the highway, and avoid the _Watch_. They came barrelin’ back to us wi’ a report. Angus pulled his animal op sharp right afore me and dismounted. “There’s a gang o’ filthy traitors ’bout a mile op the road. Ye better make yerself scarce, lad, if ye value yer life.”

I kissed Claire quickly and spurred Donas on. It was nay great secret as the _Watch_ or deserters or the lobsterbacks were all after _Red Jamie_ , as the price on my head seemed to increase verra substantially as time passed.

My bonny Claire shouted after me, “Jamie, be careful.”

“Aye.” I was always careful, but wi’ so many enemies, it was gettin’ so as I needed eyes behind my curly red-haired head.

# # # # #

What in the name of all that’s holy, was I doing with this mob of Scots? At every turn, it seemed adversaries popped up like mushrooms. And now, my poor Jamie was off attempting to hold onto his skin a while longer.

I would not have chosen to be here except Dougal dragged me along. He insisted that I come on this excursion to have a healer available if any of his bunch was in need of one. Little did I know …

We heard the stramash up ahead, and the warchief signaled for the men to creep about the flanks of the traitorous hooligans. “Christ—if it’s not one thin’, it’s another. The filthy deserters are takin’ on the British army.” Scratching at his beard, he roared, “Let’s see if we can shake ’em loose, lads. Look sharp, aye?”

He gestured to young Willy. “Stay here wi’ the Sassenach ’til we return.”

Even so far away, I could ascertain that redcoats were being attacked by the audacious pack. Dougal, by no means, bore any love for the British, but he absolutely abhorred turncoats. I had to guess that he was bound to aid the soldiers in the hopes that it would engender the same concern for the Scots.

The skirmish lasted only a fraction of an hour. Dougal and his clan scared the daylights out of them. The clatter of horses’ hooves galloping away, confirmed that supposition.

**. . . . .**

The Highlanders all came back and were accompanied by the redcoats. Their spirits were high, and my countrymen joined in the merriment as well. There were only two casualties, a corporal had taken a bullet graze to the arm, and the other man, one to his neck.

I got out my medical supplies as the troops lay their captain upon a pallet made of cowhide. He apparently was unconscious. Kneeling beside him, I turned his head to inspect the injury, and in doing so, felt a chill spreading clear to my soul. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! The man was none other than Black Jack Randall.

I thought about letting the odious bastard bleed to death, but with so many witnesses, I’d probably be dancing from a rope for such a crime. At any rate, my conscience was a detriment to that idea, and so, I went about removing the slug and dressing the wound. The other injured party offered a simple abrasion, and the remedy took me all of a few minutes to clean up the area with alcohol and bind it with a linen bandage and a compress of herbs. When I finished my ministrations, I heard Randall begin to stir.

His voice was rough. “May I have some water, please?”

Grabbing my canteen, I filled a small tin cup. I walked over to the pallet just as he reached for the cloth on his neck. “Don’t touch that,” I scolded.

I leaned over and raised his head so he could take a sip. He fluttered his eyelids, then stared at me in a most unsettling way. “Claire?”

“That’s Mrs. Fraser to you.”

His face exhibited a look of utter befuddlement. “What?”

I didn’t get a chance to answer. Two of his men closed in on us. “I thank you for your generous help, ma’am, but we must get the captain back to Fort William before dark.”

They lifted the pallet to transfer their weakened comrade to a cart. All the while, Randall was yelling, “No, wait! That’s Claire—I tell you. She’s my wife.”

Was he delirious? I watched them as he was lowered onto the wagon, a queer sensation piercing me keenly. I found myself absentmindedly twisting the gold ring on my left hand.

**. . . . .**

We made camp as evening fell, where Jamie joined us. He could see at once that something had upset me.

“What’s amiss, Sassenach?”

“You missed the battle of the Brits.”

His brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. What I mean is, your countrymen came to the aid of a company of redcoats. They were being pounced upon by a scurvy crew of disreputable ex-servicemen.”

“Ah … ye mean deserters, I suppose.”

“Yes, deserters. And your blessed uncle took it upon himself to rescue the troops. Two of the British were wounded, and I tended to their injuries. One of them was Captain Randall.”

“Randall, ye say?”

“At least he appeared to be Randall. Oh, bloody hell, I don’t know what to believe.”

“I’m at a loss as to yer meanin’, Claire.”

“His men carted him off, while he insisted I was his wife. He called me by name, Jamie. Why would Randall call me by name? Why would he even have memory of it?”

“I canna say for certain, but I’m sure as we’ll puzzle it out by and by.”

“I never told you this, but when I initially encountered Black Jack at the brook that day—the day when Murtagh rescued me—I at first, mistook him for Frank. Their faces are strikingly similar. Perhaps I’m just imagining that the man I ministered to, was in fact, my Frank. But, in the meantime, my skin is crawling with gooseflesh.” 

Jamie rubbed my arms vigorously and encircled me in his arms. Kissing my brow, he murmured, “Your mind is overwrought, Sassenach. Ye need some rest. Best ye get to sleep now, aye?”

**# # # # #**

_Were_ her thoughts the imaginin’s o’ an overwrought mind? She came thru the stones, and I couldna deny it. What was stoppin’ her husband from doin’ the same? Love is a verra powerful force, and I kent as I’d follow mo nighean donn to hell to find her. I expected as her husband Frank wouldna do anythin’ less.

My mind began to churn ’bout. What if the man _was_ Frank? Would he take my Sassenach away from me? Claire loved me, I was certain o’ it, but still … might she no go wi’ him outta a sense o’ duty? Christ, what could I do? If I fought the man for her, and kilt him, she wouldna e’er love me agin. I stayed awake the whole night long, worrit ’bout the man. I’d been a wee bit jealous o’ her Frank e’er since she told me he’d be waitin’ for her return. I kent as he wasna e’en born yet, but in truth, if he’d found his way here now, I had a verra good reason to be more than a wee bit jealous. Och … my head was a thumpin’ wi’ the pain o’ itall.

**# # # # #**

Frank could barely lift his head, so incapacitated was he by the blood loss. He and the troops arrived at Fort William and met up with their missing leader. His excuse for fleeing the scene was thus: “I made an executive decision to rout out volunteers at the village to shore up our numbers. When I returned, I found that my company was gone, but no corpses littering the ground. What was I to think? It stands to reason that the lot of you subdued the aggressors, and would reappear at the fort in due time.”

The conversation turned to Randall’s pet detainee. “Now, would someone care to enlighten me as to where that fellow Beechum has gotten to?”

“’Ee’s in the wagon, cap’n.”

Gravel crunched beneath the man’s boots, and soon, his head appeared over the edge of the cart. “Ho, there, Beechum. Stopped a bullet, have you? Well, it was bound to occur eventually.” He laughed and slapped his riding crop against the side of the dray. “Get him inside, men.”

**. . . . .**

After a few hours of rest, and a hearty meal, Frank began to regain his strength, but his spirit was so very weary. He heard her distinctly say, Claire Fraser. Was she married, then—to that towering Scotsman with the mop of red hair? How could she? He trusted her implicitly, and this was how she repaid her husband? She was married to _him_ … separated by time, but nonetheless still bound by marriage vows. Did they mean nothing to her now?

He strained to remember the details of his encounter with her. Claire was surrounded by Highlanders. He’d overheard one of the men talking to a tall, bearded man, and calling him, Dougal. Of course, that would most probably be Dougal MacKenzie, warchief of the MacKenzie clan. He did notice that the red-haired man, Fraser, did not seem to be in attendance at the time.

It very well could prove to be that Claire was every bit a prisoner as he was. Perhaps she had been coerced into wedding this Fraser chap, but for what reason?  He couldn’t imagine her doing so voluntarily.

**. . . . .**

One day in the following week, Frank summoned up the courage to discuss his neck injury and thereby direct the conversation to the whereabouts of the benefactress.

Corporal Hawkins was in a talkative mood, and more than willing to talk about Frank’s wife. The dragoon admired the healing injury, and offered, “Ah, yes, she did a fine job ... a fine job indeed. That woman is a very prominent healer among the Highlanders. Very fine looking, as well, if I may say so.”

Frank nodded, smiling at the corporal. “I am in complete agreement with you, but how is that an Englishwoman like Mrs. Fraser is married to a Scot?”

“Oh, blimey, it’s no secret. Come away to the hall, though. I don’t wish for the captain to come upon me unawares, you see. He’d not like me to be retelling the story.”

Frank stepped out of his room, and into the hall, which was empty. They had an easy view of both ends of the corridor.

“Go on … I’m intrigued.”


	9. Acting the Part

  

Disclaimer: D. Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander           Banner by LOS

**. . . . .**

Corporal Hawkins leaned toward him in a conspiratorial way. “Well … it seems the captain had the idea that this woman was a spy for the Scots. He interrogated her to see if he could catch her in a lie, and he was not very gentlemanly in his attempt, if truth be told. I witnessed his brutality. Why, Randall had pummeled her to the floor …” Here he jerked his head to the side, indicating the direction of a room down the hall. “… over there, where the officers assemble. While I was present, he began kicking her viciously and ordered me to do the same. Mind you, I was reluctant to indulge in such unseemly behavior, but it was either that or face a lashing at his hand myself. The captain is notorious for his talent with a cat o’ nine.

“The next thing I knew, the warchief of the MacKenzie clan came to fetch her, and Randall gave the man an ultimatum. Dougal was to bring the woman to Fort William in three days’ time for further questioning.

“Mistress Fraser never returned, for she had married _Red Jamie_ , and was by law, a Scottish subject by virtue of marriage. I’m sure the poor lady had no say in the affair. But at least Randall could no longer compel her to come.”

Frank nodded. “That is quite a tale. It would be unbelievable, but for the fact that I myself have firsthand knowledge of the man’s taste for sadistic acts.”

Hawkins suddenly turned around, walking rapidly in the opposite direction _. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear._

Randall strode forward. “Beechum, what the deuce are you doing, larking about in the hallway? Find something useful to do, man. I have a brace of pistols that are in need of attention. Get to it.”

**# # # # #**

We were back at Leoch, and Jamie was adamant about my not venturing beyond the castle. “Sassenach, ye ken as I love ye, but I’ll no allow ye to roam these hills by yerself. It’s no safe. I need ye to obey me in this. I need ye to _stay put_.”

 _Stay put_ … Easy for him to say. He was out and about, flitting here and there on errands doing god knows what, whereas, I was a virtual prisoner.

It was stifling in my surgery, with the pungent aromas from my potions, combined with stale air, and there were no patients recently to keep me occupied. I sorely needed a respite from all this bloody boredom, and a breath of fresh air.

He’d come to fetch me for some lunch when an argument ensued with the stubborn Scotsman. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Must I forever be confined to these suffocating castle walls? I’m going out of my mind with cabin fever.”

Jamie’s head jerked, and that muddled look crossed his features. He placed his palm on my forehead. “Are ye ill, then? I dinna feel any fever. Are ye sure, Lass?”

I glared at him. “Oh, good lord, I didn’t mean that literally. I _meant_ that I’m bored to tears, staring at these stone bulwarks. Furthermore, there’s no circulation of air in here; I could most probably succumb to sleep from lack of oxygen at any given moment. It’s not healthy, body or mental wise.”

Shaking his head, he pointed at me, and offered, “I didna say as ye couldna take a stroll outside. I just said, as I didna want ye to be alone. Ye can gad ’bout all ye want as long as one o’ us is wi’ ye.”

“A bodyguard?”

“If ye will … wi’ sword in hand if need be.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Nay. I told ye once as I would protect ye wi’ my body, and I aim to do just that. Forbye, ye said yerself as Black Jack was at that skirmish wi’ the deserters. And what’s to prevent him from seekin’ ye out, and kidnappin’ ye, I ask?

“Then ye told me as much as the man could possibly be yer Frank. And what if he is? I canna let him take ye from me. I’d die for certain.”

I threw my arms up in the air. “You and your blasted logic. The man as you put it, doesn’t even know where I am, so how, pray tell, can he kidnap me?”

“How did he find ye the first time? He has his ways, Sassenach. Spies … he has his spies, and ye ken that weel.”

“Well, I cannot hide away like a burrowing mole for the rest of my life. I will not stand for it, and that’s that. I’d like to feel the sun on my face, or more likely, the rain.”

Pulling me closer, he kissed my brow and softly spoke. “Just a wee bit longer here, and I’ll take ye to Lallybroch, where ye can breathe in all the air ye wish for. We’ll slip away like my da did when he marrit my mum.”

“Sounds lovely. But for now, I’ll need you to scour the hills with me, swinging a sword in one hand, and picking posies with the other.”

“Ah … and glad I am to do it.”

**# # # # #**

Frank never had been a violent sort, but being in the company of that sadistic creature, he would relish the thought of strangling him outright. The man was a malicious brute, with no conscience whatsoever. How did he sleep at night?

Disassembling the weapons, he laid out the pieces on the desk top, and cleaned and oiled them fastidiously. When finished, he stood to put them back in their proper place, but one of his buttons caught on the drawer handle, pulling it open. The drawer tumbled to the floor, everything within it flung helter-skelter.

On his hands and knees, Frank quickly gathered up the contents, frantically groping among the carpet fibers under the captain’s writing desk for any errant items that might have landed there. In so doing, one of his fingers touched upon a small cylindrical object, which he curled onto his palm. It was a shell, and he immediately recognized that the caliber matched the pistols he had just cleaned. He pocketed the bit of metal and returned the papers, Randall’s seal and a snuff-box to the drawer, hoping that the captain wouldn’t notice that it had been rearranged, then left the room.

Once in his own quarters, he pulled back the straggling threads of hair that had come loose from its tie and re-fastened the leather thong. He wondered how Claire would react to seeing him with his tresses so long. He hadn’t been to a barber in such a long time.

**. . . . .**

The following week, Randall declared to his men, “Make haste. I’ve received word that the elusive _Red Jamie_ is residing behind the walls of Castle Leoch. I want him apprehended, and I want him brought to me. A gold crown to whomever takes him captive. He is not … and I say this vehemently, he is not to be killed, accidentally or otherwise. It’s no fun to hang a man that’s already dead.”  

They’d been on the road for three days. Randall gave Frank one of the pistols he had worked on the previous week, unaware that his charge housed a bullet for it in one of his pockets. Giving the pistol to the hostage was for show. An enemy had no inkling that the weapon had an empty chamber, and so if encountered, would still be cautious, for what sort of person would go about with an empty firearm? It defied all reason. However, without the captain’s knowledge, Frank had the gun primed, and his lone shell in the chamber, escape on his mind.

That night, Randall moved away from the campsite so as not to be bothered by the troops, taking along his chessboard, and commanded his prisoner to join him. In the middle of the game, Frank, curious about the ginger he’d seen with Claire, asked, “Who is this _Red Jamie_ , I’ve heard so much about?”

Randall scowled. “Red Jamie … hmn … Jamie Fraser’s a rebellious Highlander, with flaming red hair. He dared to question my authority, and twice, actually taunted me even as I laid the lash to his back. The fellow didn’t have the decency to die, but he has a price on his head, and has to look over his shoulder at every turn. That has given me some satisfaction, but it’s a personal affront to me that he still walks this earth.”

Taking a gulp of his ale, Randall then said, “The game will have to wait awhile. I need to take a piss, and you’re coming with me.”

The crudely dug latrine was situated far enough back that the odor wouldn’t assault the nostrils of the men. As the couple trudged along, they continued to discuss Red Jamie. All at once, Randall halted in his steps and turned to Frank. “It just occurred to me, two of my men confided that the day you were shot, you went on about Mistress Fraser being your wife. They supposed that you were delirious, but perhaps not.”

His dark eyes bored into his those of his mirror image. “I knew I had heard that name before … Beechum. Her name was Beechum, and she’s married to that Highland brigand, Fraser.”

He laughed in Frank’s face. “So, the little trollop is your wife. Good god, this is too rich—she’s a bigamist. You’ve been cuckolded, ol’ chap. Haaaaah …

“This trip to Leoch will have us being doubly rewarded. I’ll hang the pair while you watch. But first, I’ll have my way with both of them. It should make for a very entertaining evening or two, don’t you think?”

Frank pulled out his weapon and aimed it at Randall. “Let’s not presume too quickly. I’ll not allow you to do this.”

Randall jiggled his head. “How are you to stop me with an empty pistol? I shall shoot you right where you stand, and no one will question it. You were trying to escape, after all.”

The captain reached for his gun, but Frank was faster on the trigger by far. His one bullet was sufficient. Randall fell to the ground, a jagged hole gaping in his forehead, and a surprised expression forever etched on his face.

Trading weapons with the dead man, Frank removed Randall’s gorget, fastening it about his own neck. He then emptied the man’s pockets, filling his with the captain’s effects. None of the troops _indeed_ would question who it was bleeding on the ground. Frank had a new persona, he was now, essentially, Captain Jonathan Wolverton Randall, Esquire.

**. . . . .**

The sound of the shot going off alerted the men, and several of them arrived at the scene, with rifles at the ready. Frank arrogantly swaggered toward the swarm of troops, and brayed, “See here. Beechum is no more. I want him dragged away, and buried. The man was a notorious spy; he as much as admitted it. Now, take him away, and be quick about it.

“One more thing. My chess board is set up in the clearing. Place it outside my quarters. That’s all.”

As they started to pull at the corpse, Frank stopped them. “Wait, he has one of my pistols.”

Frank took the firearm from the late captain’s fingers. The barrel was still hot to the touch from firing. Good thing he was a fast thinker, as it wouldn’t do to have one of Randall’s dragoons heft it and find it peculiarly warm. It might have thrown a substantial bit of doubt in the troopers’ minds. Else, why would the dead man have a gun that was fired, grasped in his hand?

When the body was finally hauled off for burial, Frank, carrying on the charade, went back to Randall’s tent. With his guard fallen, he sat on the cot, and his body began shuddering convulsively. He had never killed a man before, even during the war, and it was no small thing to him. He told himself that it had to be done to save Claire from the clutches of that maniac.

Surely, the captain deserved to die, but Frank abhorred the notion that he was the means of the man’s execution—deserved or not. His head sagged into his open palms, and Frank began to weep, not for the soul of Jonathan Randall, but for the wound that now blackened his own heart.

 

  


	10. Taking the Reins

  

Disclaimer: D. Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander      Banner by LOS

**. . . . .**

Frank was the first in the camp to be up, dressed, and out of the tent to muster the men. It was a daunting task for him to find an increment of rest the prior night, and so rather than remain on his cot, he roused himself to begin the day.

The sight of Randall with the grotesque bullet hole in the center of his forehead, and the look of shock on his face haunted him for hours. He presumed that vision would more than likely follow him to a trench prepared for his own grave.

By the light of day, Frank worried that he might be caught in a faux pas in this ruse. He was familiar with military procedure and stratagem; it was his carrying out the impersonation of the captain that was the real concern. But then, if he fell back into his usual well-bred manner, perhaps the troops would welcome the change in behavior. It was a known fact that Randall was hated, or at the very least, feared. The man’s moods were so capricious as to make one’s head spin. A comrade in arms could be dining pleasantly with the captain one evening and be hanging by a rope the following morning.

**. . . . .**

After a hasty meal, one of his men—that would take some getting used to—saddled up Randall’s black stallion, Mystere—a magnificent animal—and the move to Leoch was once again on the road.

Frank tried to be as surly as possible to the troops, so as not to cause suspicion, but it taxed him to the limit to play such a villainous part. His only respite from the stress of it all was when he finally retired for the night and he could put Captain Randall to bed.

**# # # # #**

The Highlanders were out and mucking about again; Dougal drumming up more support for Bonny Prince Charlie, I imagined. I wasn’t allowed to accompany the men this time, as there were several people within the confines of Leoch, falling ill with a fever, and I couldn’t be spared to go along with them. My prayers, however, followed the motley band to spare them any harm or accident since they’d be miles away from my medical skills.

Jamie came home one evening so sozzled that he was precariously listing to one side, his shoulder bumping against the wall of our room.

I sat up in bed. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Jamie! Stay away from the hearth. I don’t wish to be tending to your burnt hide.”

“Dinna fash, woman. I’m no goin’ to be fallin’ anatime soon.”

“Says you. You’re falling-down snockered!”

“Och … I wouldna say as much. As long as I can stand op, I’m nay drunk, only a wee bit _tipsy_.”

He swayed unsteadily, heading toward our bed and finally sat down with a plop. Then, nearly sliding, arse first to the floor, Jamie tugged off his boots, pitching them onto the stone tiles.  His broadsword and dirk clattered to ground level next, the sound reverberating in my ears.

“Shhhh …” I admonished him. “You’ll wake the dead with all this commotion.”

Struggling with his jerkin, sark, and kilt for several minutes, he finally managed to remove his clothes and slid in beside me. In an instant, his lips were incessantly making the voyage from my throat down to my breasts. I shoved him away abruptly, the pungent aroma emanating from his normally welcome body, offending my nostrils.

 _Lovely_ …“Honestly, Jamie. You smell like a brewery, mixed with horse dung. If you expect a go round with me, then clean yourself up. When was the last time you bathed—a week ago?”

With his head jerked back, he counted on his fingers, and muttered, “Let’s see now, what day is it, t’day?”

Lying back down, I scolded, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, just go to sleep. It’s late; your urges can wait until morning, after you’ve sobered up and washed off that offensive odor. And please, give the maid your clothes to be laundered. I’ll not have my husband donning the same filthy apparel.”

I turned away from the smelly lout, but even so, the very air I breathed was permeated with his stench.

He snuggled his head against my neck. “I expect I could use a good lie down. I’m fair puggled.”

Pulling the blanket up over my nose in a vain attempt to block out the _fragrance_ , I murmured, “And I’m _fair_ suffocating.”

Jamie turned his head, leaving a whiskey-imbued kiss at my shoulder. “G’night to ye, mo cridhe.”

I fired back, “I certainly hope so.”

**. . . . .**

The following morning, my Jamie no sooner scrubbed off the remnants of his previous days of rough-housing, than he had me bedded and smiling beneath the sheets.

We kissed goodbye, after our enjoyable little tryst, and off he raced with Dougal and the lads, to search the hills for supporters. 

For the next several days, he came home late, reeking of whiskey and strong urine. I had enough, and wanted to get to the bottom of this drinking binge. I’d never seen him bladdered so frequently. Of course, the Scots were notorious for drinking a nip here and there, but Jamie very seldom imbibed to the point of becoming _tipsy_ , as he alleged. Something had to have ignited this change in behavior.

**. . . . .**

 I told him one morning, as I straightened up the bed, “If you continue in this fashion to come home plastered every damn night, then you’d better _bunk_ somewhere else, _cowboy_.”

Quirking an eyebrow, he walked to the basin set on the highboy across the room and filled it with water. Then, scoffing, he spouted, “Is that so?”

I laced up my corset in an agitated manner. “Yes, indeed. I mean it, Jamie. I’m sick to death of your drinking and carousing. It has to stop.”

Splashing his face with the water, he brayed, “Dinna be tellin’ me what to do, Sassenach. Ye’re my wife, and as such, ye’ll keep yer sharp tongue in that mouth o’ yers.”

I shook my head, glaring at him. “I shall do no such thing, and furthermore, you can move your belongings out of here unless you’ve decided to come to your senses.”

“And if Dougal has other ideas?”

“That’s a lie, and you know it. Dougal and the others are home, well before you are. What is it? Are you seeing some little _trollop_?”

Jamie began to shake in anger, and with a sweep of one arm, flung the clay ewer and basin to the floor. The water spilled everywhere, and the vessels were shattered beyond repair. He stepped over the broken pieces, grabbed his bandoleer and weapons, then stormed from the room. I followed, hot on his heels, chasing him down the hall.

“If there’s something else going on, then _speak_ to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

His long legs carried him more quickly than I could accommodate, and so I unwillingly gave up pursuit, allowing him to simmer down.

**# # # # #**

Of course, no enterprise could operate smoothly for Frank. They had ridden only a few miles or so when the surrounding vegetation began to rumble and quake. All at once, a rather large, wild boar came snorting out of the brush toward them, frightening the horses.

Foster’s animal reared up, tossing the corporal to the ground. The soldier cried out in pain and grabbed at his leg, which appeared to be broken. When his mount’s hooves came down, the wild beast gored the horse’s flank, ripping it open with its razor-sharp tusks.

The wounded stallion staggered, legs slipping sideways. It careened down the sloping bank that adjoined the road, and tumbled, breaking its neck.

The dragoons gave a wide berth to the feral creature while they desperately tried to control their animals, and it ran off to the other side of the highway. The next moment gave confirmation as to what had occurred, since the howling of a wolf pack could be heard nearby. My god, would he have to protect himself from wolves as well.

With the savage beast gone, Frank bellowed orders to the men. “Someone fashion a stretcher for the corporal. Fletcher, Williams, Hicks, get him in the cart and be quick about it. Take Foster to the surgeon back at the fort. I don’t fancy meeting a pack of bloodthirsty wolves on the road. That is to be avoided at all costs.”

Pointing at the leftenant, he continued, “Hill, I shall put you in charge. See that you don’t disappoint me.” 

“Aye, Captain.”

“The rest of you, lot, will continue on with our mission.”

That left three dragoons in his command. With such a small group, he prayed no other mishaps would befall them before their arrival at Leoch.

**. . . . .**

The little band set up camp that night, and Frank placed Hawkins on sentry duty, as he could still hear the wolves. Had they followed him to camp? He’d just fallen asleep when a shout rang out.

Grabbing his pistol, he ventured outside his quarters and was met with a pack of snarling, timber wolves, their eyes glowing menacingly in the dark. The two other soldiers came to their aid and began shooting.

“Stop!” Frank commanded. “Fire over their heads. I don’t want them killed.”

“Sir?’ Hawkins seemed dumbfounded, but did as he was ordered, and the wolves yipped, racing off to find easier prey.

**. . . . .**

The men muttered among themselves after Frank returned to his tent, supposing that he was asleep. Instead, he lay on his cot, listening intently to their discussion of the recent event.

It was Hawkins’ voice. “What do you make of it, Alfred? He wouldn’t give us permission to kill a one of them.”

“Most peculiar, to be sure, not like the cap’n at all,” Alfred said. “Maybe he’s gettin’ soft.”

“Or maybe they reminded him of pets he once had,” Hawkins added. “They say some chaps take more care of their animals than their fellow man. You’ve seen how he fawns over Mystere.”

They tittered about that remark.

The third trooper yawned. “Well, you two can blather on all night, but I’m ready to bed down; so, g’night to you both.”

**# # # # #**

Finishing up with the patients in my surgery, and still in a mood most foul, I disregarded his royal highness’ command and went outside the walls of the bloody stronghold. I took a basket with me, and huffed and muttered angrily while I plucked at the leafy foliage and herbs to replenish my needed stores.

The basket was half full when I spotted a mass of curly red hair sticking up above some tall hedges. A moment later, a head accompanied the hair, and two lake blue eyes peeped over the edge.

“Ah, there ye are, Sassenach.”

Taking a deep breath, I put down the basket and glared stonily at him. “If you came all this way to fuss at me, you’ll be wasting your breath.”

He stretched forth his arms in a show of supplication, and skirted around the side of the hedge, sheepishly admitting, “Nay, I came to apologize to ye.”

“Oh ... Well, then, let’s have it, shall we?”

“Weel, I suppose ye have ever’ right to wonder why I’ve been so long away o’ a night.” Jamie hung his head, staring at the ground. “In truth, so many nights, I expect.

“I’ve been drinkin’ to forget; drownin’ my troubles in a bottle ye might say.”

“Yes ...and. Go on.”

“It’s a personal thin’ ye ken. My Uncle …”

I nodded, interrupting him. “Dougal, you mean.”

“Aye. He’s been displayin’ the stripes on my back to gain sympathy for the damn Jacobite cause. It’s humiliatin’, and I canna abide it.”

Bristling with irritation, I commented. “Nor should you. That man! He knows how you feel about people looking at those lash marks. Has he no scruples whatsoever?”

“None as I’m aware o’.”

I pulled at his arm, seating us together on the grass. “Oh, Jamie, I’m so sorry. But can’t Colum take him to task for doing such a thing. He’s _embarrassing_ you in public.”

“Och … Colum has nay idea as this has been goin’ on.”

With a jerk of amazement, I sputtered, “Whaaaat? Why won’t you tell him?”

Jamie lifted a tuft of copper curls up off his nape, separating the strands so I could glance at what he was alluding to. “Christ—d’ye see this scar on the back o’ my head?”

I gently traced the rutted line with my finger. “Dougal once took an axe to it, leastwise, I think it was him. If I let Colum ken what he’s been op to, I’ll havta sleep wi’ one eye open ever’ night. That, and a dirk under my pillow, aye?”

Instinctively, I leaned into his side, wrapping my arms about his broad shoulders. While doing so, I caught a glimpse of something shiny and metallic out of the corner of my eye. It was a ways off, glinting in the sunlight. What had I just witnessed? And should I be concerned?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Gang Aft Agley

  

Disclaimer: D. Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander     Banner by LOS

**. . . . .**

As the little band neared the Castle, the new and vastly improved Captain Randall halted their progress. He dismounted and crouched beside a stately larch, his spyglass in his hand. Expanding it to its full length, he held it to his right eye, honing it onto a dark-haired woman walking along the tall grasses. And what ho—he was amazed at his good fortune, for the woman was indeed, Claire, with a basket dangling from her arm, gathering herbs.

Glued to the scene, he couldn’t remove the telescope from his eye, since the reason for his folly was in his sights. Nevertheless, he’d come this far, and now it was time to put a plan in place.

Frank got ready to collapse the instrument and put it away when he spotted that tall ginger, Red Jamie, appearing as it were before her. At first, Claire seemed agitated in her manner toward him, and that pleased Frank. But then—to his horror, there was his wife willingly locked in an affectionate embrace with the man. If their union was in truth, coerced, it apparently had morphed into a more amenable joining. What was he to do in light of this new development?

He had imagined he would enter Leoch, and demand Claire be taken into custody under the pretext of interrogating her as a spy, having no interest in Randall’s original mission of taking Red Jamie captive. Then, if all went well, he would take her to the stones and return with her to his own time. He hadn’t thought about the possibility that his wife could actually be in love with this outlaw.

Waiting until the man accompanied Claire inside, Frank then proceeded with his idea. Either she would come back with him or stay with the husband of her new life. It was as simple as that … or was it? This was the 18th century. Was Frank expected to fight for her? How did this venture misfire so badly?

**. . . . .**

Re-mounting Mystere, he gestured with a wave of his hand for his men to move forward.

When they entered the courtyard, heads turned, people froze in their steps, and the normal buzz of voices abruptly faded. By the time Frank and his men had walked their animals to the gate, the warchief had arrived and confronted them in a most belligerent fashion.

“To what do we owe this official call from the likes of ye Sassenachs?”

Hawkins looked to Frank for his reaction, but his leader remained calm and responded politely.

Surprising to himself, Frank relished a reversal in tactics … and little did his troopers realize his prior, secretive goal. He wanted to find out more about this Red Jamie, and why the man had so quickly enamored his wife. “I apologize for this unheralded visit, but I’ve received intelligence that the outlaw, Red Jamie, is even now being housed here. He is, after all, a fugitive from justice, and it is my intention to leave with him in my custody.”

Dougal’s jaw grew taut and he stood immovable as a damned boulder. “Ye’ll be stirrin’ op a hornet’s nest if ye do. This is Scottish soil, and we’re no in the habit o’ bowin’ to English rule.”

A thought occurred to Frank, and he jumped at the chance to meet face to face with the MacKenzie himself.

“I see we are at a stalemate then, Sir. Let me approach the Laird, if I may, and see what he has to say about the matter, hmn?”

“Och … I expect his feelin’s on the matter will nay doubt be a mirror o’ my own.”

“Nonetheless, I insist that I speak to him.”

A grubby little man walked up to Dougal at his summons, and Frank heard the warchief instruct him, saying, “Angus, I need ye to escort the Captain to the speak-about-room. And explain to Colum what transpired here, ye ken?”

The man, Angus, waved for me to walk beside him. “Aye, come along then, Captain Randall.”

Dougal bellowed to the other three, “The rest o’ ye will stay here ’til his return.”

**# # # # #**

“Stars and stones, ye mean to tell me as Randall is here to take me back to Wentworth?”

I couldna believe my ears. Black Jack was here, in Leoch? But was it truly Randall? My belly turned sour and clenched tight as a coiled snake. I couldna go back there. I’d die first. I wondered if it wasna Randall, but Frank, and if it be so, would he put me in the prison so’s he could reclaim his wife?

Angus nodded. “I walked him to see _himself,_ as Dougal refused to turn ye o’er. I dinna ken what Colum told him. They’re discussin’ the matter now. What d’ye want me to do, Jamie? Me and the lads can ride wi’ ye right quick afore Randall kens ye’ve op and gone.”

I grabbed my weapons and dashed out the door, yellin’ at Angus, “Tell Murtagh and Rupert to saddle op the horses, then meet me outside the surgery. I must see Claire first, to say goodbye.”

**. . . . .**

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Here? He’s here?”

Claire looked all reely-wally when I said my piece. “Aye. Ye heard me right. Angus says he means to have me hanged, or leastwise, locked op agin. Anaways, I havna choice, Sassenach. I need to leave for a wee bit. So, I expect one kiss will havta last me ’til I can love ye proper.”

Our lips met, yet no long enough to suit me, but seein’ as I was in a hurry to be on the road, it would havta do.

Murtagh stuck his head in the doorway. “Jamie, we canna wait much longer; let’s be on our way!”

I glanced back just once at mo nighean donn, then raced out with Murtagh.

**. . . . .**

We ne’er got as far as the stables. Two o’ Colum’s guards blocked our only means o’ escape. We couldna cut them down, as that wouldha brought the whole o’ the MacKenzie clan agin’ us. Surrenderin’ my weapons, I was taken to the talk-about-room to meet my fate.

**# # # # #**

The history books never mentioned that the Laird of Leoch suffered from Toulouse Lautrec syndrome, and it was a shock to Frank to witness as much. He tried not to stare and continued his rational supplication. “You are harboring a criminal, sir.”

“Jamie has broken nay laws. He only hurt yer damnable pride, and for that, he bears the cruel marks on his back. Ye nearly killt him once already, and I’ll no give ye leave to take him from his home to finish the task.”

“What about the man he killed during his escape from prison? Does that not count for anything?”

Colum’s lips tightened to a grim line, then he added, “How does an unarmed man, half starved, and burnin’ wi’ fever kill another. Can ye tell me that?”

Frank expected as much from the stubborn man, and his mind raced for an alternative. “I can see this discourse is getting us nowhere. May I suggest a compromise then?”

An expression of skepticism crossed Colum’s features, and the man shifted his weight on his short bowed legs. He walked to the cage where his bird was kept, his back to Frank, and flicked a finger at the steel bars, cooing to his pet.  “And what might this compromise entail?”

“I only wish to ask him a few questions, perhaps even offer him a pardon. Is there someplace where I can talk to Jamie privily? If it would ease your mind, you can leave guards outside the door. I shall not object, if that’s your desire. However, I assure you, I mean Jamie no harm. I give you my word as a gentleman.”

Turning, Colum called to his men, “Come!”

His guards appeared in the room. “Two o’ ye can take the captain here to the turret. The remainder … see ’bout findin’ young Jamie and deliver him here to me.”

He glanced at Frank. “Does that meet wi’ yer approval?”

Bowing, Frank said, “It does. Thank you.”

The Laird winced in pain. “All o’ ye may leave me now. I need to rest for a bit.”

**# # # # #**

I was led like a ewe to the slaughter, but when I walked into the talk-about-room, my uncle was alone, seated in a chair.

He looked to be as scairt as I was. “Come closer, lad, I dinna have the strength to stand.”

Wi’ a wave o’ his hand, he ordered, “You men, wait outside while I talk to Jamie.”

**. . . . .**

“What am I to do, Uncle? If I go wi’ Randall, I’m a dead man.”

“Ye’re no goin’ anawhere wi’ that bluidy bastard. I sent him wi’ two o’ my most trusted men to the turret. They’ll see to it as ye stay safe.”

“He willna be takin’ me to Wentworth, then?”

“Nay. Randall says he only wants to question ye, if ye can believe as much.”

Befuddled, I was. Christ, what sort o’ questions could the man possibly want from the likes o’ me? How to rustle cows, or malt the barley for the makin’ o’ the whiskey?

Colum yelled to the guards, and they filed into the room. “Take Jamie to the turret. Mind you, ye’re to stay wi’in shoutin’ distance o’ the lad to be sure no harm comes to him. I dinna trust the Sassenach, and my heart will beat easier if I kent as ye’ve taken suitable precautions.”

**. . . . .**

When we neared the turret, I jerked back as I kent who was waitin’ for me on t’other side o’ the door.

“Dinna fash, Jamie,” the guard, Evan, said, pullin’ me along. “We’ll be stayin’ put. We willna leave ye in the hands of that brute.”

I felt so alone, e’en wi’ my kin surroundin’ me, the fear creepin’ into my verra bones. One lashin’ was enough, the second, too much to bear, the third would kill me for certain. Why couldna the man leave me be?

**. . . . .**

Fairly tremblin’, I was urged forward into the room. Randall, stood agin’ the back wall, watchin’ ever’thin, and then the guards left. He looked me op and down in a most peculiar manner. It was as if he’d ne’er set eyes on me afore.

Randall pushed a chair toward me. “Sit down, Jamie. Oh … where are my manners? May I call you Jamie?”

Seatin’ myself, I answered, “It ne’er stopped ye afore? Why should it now?”

He nodded, and smiled. “Fair enough.”

Stars and stones, my heart was a’beatin’ so fast, I thought my chest would give way, and it would burst forth onto the floor. My mouth was dry as a oatcake, and I couldna stop my hands from their shakin’.

“Did the Laird tell you why you’re here?”

“Nay, only as ye had some questions for me.”

“That is correct. I’ve been informed that you are married to an English woman, the very woman I suspect is a spy. Why on earth would you do that, considering the Scots have no fond feelings for we English? I want the truth.”

“Dougal thought it best. He arranged itall. Claire and I had nought to say ’bout it, but to do as we were told. ”

I saw Randall flinch as I spoke my wife’s name, leastwise, I imagined it so. “To keep her from the appointment I made to interrogate her?”

“Aye. E’en tho’ it was Dougal’s idea to have us marrit, I couldna let the lass suffer at yer hand. She is no a spy.”

“You’re telling me that this was a marriage of convenience, then.”

“O’ sorts, I expect.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

I hesitated, reluctant to tell the man what was our own private business. Randall waited in anticipation and pulled up a chair in front o’ me. I didna like as he was sittin’ so close. My skin began to crawl.

“Out with it, man. Answer the question honestly, and I’ll let you go.”

What? Did he really say that? Was it just a ploy to get me to speak to him?

My eyes started to mist op, and tryin’ no to let the tears fall, I sputtered, nearly chokin’ on the words, “I was fond o’ the lass to begin wi’, ye ken, and as time went on, we truly came to love each other. We love each other still, so if ye’re thinkin’ on takin’ her to Fort William wi’ ye, weel ye’ll have me runnin’ ye thru wi my broadsword.”

The man blinked, but said nothin’. He sighed, and stood up, placin’ the chair back where it belonged. “All right, Jamie. One more thing ... I’m granting you a pardon for the murder of my sergeant major. The real culprit was ferreted out. He’s been hung for the crime. You’re a free man.”

Star and stones—a pardon? I was so astonished as to flip my chair o’er in my excitement. Yet, I calmed myself enough to say, “I can go then?”

“Yes, you may.”

I backed outta the room, my mind in a muddle o’ thoughts. Then I ran, swift as ye please, to tell Claire.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Hippocratic Oath

  

Disclaimer: D. Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander   Banner by LOS

**. . . . .**

My head was reelin’ wi’ the realization as I was a free man. I walked into the hallway, blind wi’ joy, so’s as I verra nearly knocked o’er my Sassenach when I entered the surgery.

She turned away from the work table, puttin’ down the mortar and pestle as she was mixin’ herbs in. “Jamie, what is it? You’re flushed, but don’t seem to be a bit upset.”

“Nay, just the opposite. I’m free, Claire. Black Jack has granted me a pardon.”

“What? A pardon? Excuse me for saying so, but that doesn’t sound like Randall whatsoever.”

“It’s the god’s own truth, Sassenach. The meetin’ was verra odd tho’. The blatherskite asked me questions ’bout why I got marrit to ye and such.”

“That _is_ odd—very odd indeed. Why do you suppose he would venture in that vein of inquiry?”

Shruggin’, I felt just as mystified as mo nighean donn. “I canna e’en guess ’bout the workin’s of that cur’s mind. He’s touched in the head for certain, but I’ll no say anythin’ ’bout that.”

Claire flung herself into my arms. “Oh, Jamie, I’m so happy for you.”

“Aye. I wanta burst out singin’.”

She looked op at me, eagerness in her eyes. “How did Colum react to this sudden turn of events?”

“Christ—Colum—I forgot ’bout my uncle. I imagine he’ll be wantin’ to ken the outcome as weel.”

**# # # # #**

Jamie lifted me in the air, braying, “I’m free, truly free. Stars and stones, I canna believe it.” 

Putting me back on my feet, but still gripping me about the waist, he proceeded to endow me with a lingering kiss. As we were thus engaged, in walked Murtagh, looking as if he’d been sucking on the end of kosher dill.

After clearing his throat, he remarked, “I expect the meetin’ wi’ the British scunner went weel.”

“Aye. The price on my head isna more.”

With the scowl never leaving his face, he dryly offered, “Is that a fact, ye wee gomerel?”

“I kent yer meanin’, forbye, I can barely believe it myself.”

Murtagh’s face folded in on itself, a frown of skepticism alighting upon it. “The man must be ill; else, barmy. It’s the only explanation.”

“Barmy or no, the man said the soldier as killt the sergeant major was hanged, so I’ll no be keekin’ o’er my shoulder ever’ minute o’ ever’ day.”

“And what, might I ask, did Himself havta say say ’bout itall?”

“I’ve no been to see him as yet.”

“Weel, ye best detach yerself from the lass, then, and inform the man.”

“Aye.” He promptly let loose of me, and nodding to us, blared, “Claire, Murtagh … I’m off.”

I waved at him, cheerfully, as he strode toward the exit, delighted at this new development. His cousin, however, did not share in my joy.

“You don’t look at all happy for him, Murtagh.”

“Nay … ye’re correct in that assumption. I ken Randall, and what’s to stop him from changin’ his mind, aye?”

“But he gave Jamie his word. Surely, he would never give it unless he planned to honor it.”

“Phffft! Randall’s word isna worth a bawbee. I dinna trust that smarmy stoat.”

“Bloody hell, you have such a prodigious talent for spoiling a person’s good humour. Why, you’re as glum as Eeyore.”

His head shook, and he deadpanned, “Ne’er met the man.”

I huffed at the messenger of melancholy. “He’s not a man. He’s a fictional character.”

“Och … beggin’ yer pardon; my mistake. I’ll be leavin’ ye to yer work then, and takin’ my gloom wi’ me.”

Rolling his eyes, he then bowed and made his way toward the door.

I followed in his wake, and he turned about. “Please … don’t leave yet. I shouldn’t have spoken to you in that way. I beg you to accept my apology. It’s just that it warmed my heart to witness the relief in Jamie’s eyes. I’d never seen him so carefree.”

“I hope to God Almighty as it lasts.” Removing his tam, he waved it in front of me in a courtly flourish. “G’day to ye, Mistress Fraser.”

 _Yes, it is a good day_ , I thought to myself, smiling at the morose, little curmudgeon.

**# # # # #**

Frank grudgingly admitted to himself that Jamie Fraser was an amiable chap, and his regard for Claire indisputable as well. There was also the glaring evidence that he was in no way responsible—or even capable—of murdering Randall’s sergeant. It was obviously a trumped-up charge due to Black Jack’s personal vendetta against Fraser. He wondered why all that vitriol had been poured upon the young man. He’d put his ear to the ground to ferret out the reason.

**. . . . .**

The three dragoons dutifully waited without the gate, talking among themselves. They simultaneously separated and mounted their steeds as they watched his approach.

“Where is the prisoner?” Hawkins asked. “I thought we’d come here to take Red Jamie back with us to the fort.”

Frank slid one foot in the stirrup, and hoisted his other leg up and over the saddle. “I’ve had a change of heart. After reviewing the evidence more thoroughly, I decided to pardon the fellow. However, my business here is not quite concluded. We’ll not break camp yet, but hunker down for this evening and complete the mission at first light.”

The corporal’s eyes widened in surprise, but he spoke not a word in rebuttal.

With the explanation clearly revealed, the little group returned to the tents that were pitched in the clearing beyond the ridge.

**. . . . .**

Early next morning, before his men arose, Frank began experiencing vertigo and weakness. It irritated him, since he came all this way, and immediately prior to his planned visit with Claire, he’d come down with this cursed malady. Blasted inconvenience!

He lay down. Everything in the surrounding area was spinning before his eyes. With them tightly shut to block out the nausea-inducing motion, he heard someone at the front flap of the tent.

“Sir, I have documents from Colonel Withers.” Ah, it was a messenger arriving at his quarters with a missive from his commander.

“Come,” he replied hoarsely.

The stricken man sat up when the young soldier stood before him. He handed the orders to Frank, who read them quickly. The private seemed reluctant to leave, appearing very concerned.

“Are you quite alright, sir? Your face looks a smite flushed.”

It was a struggle for Frank to even form words. “No, as a matter of fact, I’m feeling rather poorly at this moment.”

The messenger questioned him. “Sir, I’m sorry, but I must ask, do you have a reply for Col. Withers?”

“Yes, tell my corporal to write that I’m under the weather, and will be detained at Leoch for a few days.”

“Aye” He turned to go, “I’ll find you some help, sir.”

**# # # # #**

Hawkins entered Frank’s quarters and was appalled by the captain’s condition. Gesturing his intent to touch Frank’s forehead, he hesitantly asked, “May I?”

Frank nodded slowly; his head throbbing with the effort.

Very gently, the corporal placed one palm on Frank’s forehead to ascertain if fever was present. “Sorry to say, but you have a great deal of fever, but don’t worry, Captain; you’ll be right as rain soon. I’ll go fetch the Beaton, Mistress Fraser, back at Leoch. I hear she has a pool of knowledge to do with this sort of thing.” _Well, if the mountain won’t come to Muhammad …_

**# # # # #**

Rupert led Corporal Hawkins to my surgery. I was absolutely flabbergasted by his visit, even more so at his request.

Hawkins removed his tricorn, placing it over his heart. “Mistress Fraser, I’m well aware of the history between you and Captain Randall. As you know, I was eyewitness to his mistreatment of you. But, notwithstanding the events of the past, I come to you for help. The captain is burning up with fever. You’re his only hope.”

What? He wanted me to treat Randall—again? I almost refused his petition, but my conscience got the better of me. I couldn’t withhold my help to someone in need, regardless of whether or not he was deserving of that help.

“Where is he?”

“Not far, just a furlong or so. Will you come with me then?”

“Yes. Let me gather up my supplies.” I turned from him, putting various tinctures and ointments in my medicine box, and handed it to the corporal to carry outside.

**. . . . .**

Following Hawkins out past the gate, I noticed two horses already prepared and waiting for us. I took a deep breath, before mounting one of them, knowing full well that Jamie would not approve of my venture to the British encampment. Still, I wasn’t a bit reticent; I trusted the corporal implicitly. Besides, if I didn’t return by day’s end, the warchief surely would send out a party to retrieve me.

The corporal dismounted when we reached the site, and assisted me down from my horse, along with my medical equipment. He then guided me through the maze of horses and tents to his commanding officer.

I could distinctly hear Randall moaning as we neared his quarters.

On entering, I saw Randall, lying flat upon his cot, his face reddened with the flush of a raging fever. I timidly approached the captain and extended my hand. The heat spread to my palm; he was indeed febrile. I only wished I had a bloody thermometer with me.

Sighing, I opened my apothecary chest, and took out a vial of crushed willow bark. I showed the contents to Hawkins, and instructed him, “Can you perhaps bring in some hot water, so I may brew some tea for the captain? This herb is quite effective in bringing down one’s body temperature.”

When he left, I soaked a cloth in a stream of water from a ewer at his bedside and applied the cool compress to his sweat-beaded forehead. As I did so, Randall grabbed my arm and opened his eyes. “Claire … Is that you?”

Taken aback by his familiarity, I answered honestly, “Yes, it’s Claire Fraser, as you well know. Corporal Hawkins brought me to your camp to minister to you.”

He struggled to lift his head. “Claire—don’t you recognize me? It’s Frank … Frank Randall, your husband.”

I gently pushed him down to the cot. “Shhh … don’t exert yourself. Lie down and rest.”

Good lord! Was it possible? Or was he delirious? After all, Randall did hear me mention Frank’s name once or twice. It was most disconcerting, to say the least. The last time I ministered to him, he made the same assertion—to be my husband—but never clearly identified himself as Frank. I didn’t know what to think, nor what to do about it if his assertion proved to be true.

I took his hand in mine, as he slipped into a restless sleep. My heart stopped as a result of this insignificant gesture, and a series of goosebumps rose on my arms, for there on his left hand was a wedding ring … and a perfect match to the one I wore. Coincidence?

**. . . . .**

I stayed with my patient until I felt certain his fever had subsided somewhat, then gave directions to his men for the use of the supplies I left with them, and to offer Randall liquids throughout the remainder of the day.

Hawkins escorted me to the castle and thanked me for seeing to his commander. Rupert was at my side immediately, and the corporal lowered the chest with the remaining medications into his able hands.

I watched as the corporal banked the horses and rode off back to his encampment. Rupert and I walked through the gate, and to my surgery.

**# # # # #**

The events of that afternoon were hazy at best, yet Frank did believe that his beloved Claire had been there at his bedside, caring for him.

What had he said to her? He couldn’t remember, blast it all! Did he reveal who he was, and if he had done so, did Claire take him at his word?

His head continued to pound, so he shut his eyelids and succumbed to sleep once more, putting a halt to the thoughts that were roiling about in his brain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Proof Positive

 

Disclaimer: D. Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander      Banner by LOS

**. . . . .**

Jamie’s eyes were on fire when he met up with me in our bedroom. It didn’t take an Einstein to predict that a lecture from Fraser, the Omnipotent, was ready to proceed from his mouth. Perhaps I should’ve stayed with the English dragoons!

He stood there with arms akimbo, glaring at me. “Stars and stones, ye left the safety o’ Leoch to go traipsin’ ’bout in an enemy encampment.”

Unhitching my skirt, I let it fall hastily to the floor. “Yes, I went to Randall’s camp. I couldn’t very well let the man die of a bloody fever when I had the means to treat him. And for your information, the English are not _my_ enemy. They’re my countrymen.”

He pulled off his bandoleer, and tossed his weapons aside, clearly frustrated with my actions. “Och … but ye didna care to think on the danger o’ itall. Supposin’ he was puttin’ on and didna have a fever, but said as much to get ye in his clutches, aye? What then?”

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! It was Hawkins that came to get me. Now I ask, would that man harm a fly? He is perfectly trustworthy, I assure you. The corporal was appalled at the way Randall treated me in the past. Why would he lie about this? I don’t believe that man has a deceitful bone in his entire body.”

“Weel, that may be so, but—”

Sighing, I put up a finger to stop his blathering, and offered, “There’s something else I need to tell you, if you’re through with your tirade. I think maybe I was right in my assumption that it wasn’t the captain whom I initially saw after the melee with the deserters. And it wasn’t Randall who visited here the other day, nor he who fell ill at the encampment.”

“Are ye sayin’ as it’s Frank, then?”

“It seems that way. I just don’t know, Jamie. I tried to rationalize it to myself—that the man was in a fever-induced delirium, but today, he straight out told me that he was my husband, Frank. That, in itself, should clarify—in my mind at least—that this is _not_ a delusional state on his part, but is in fact, _reality_.”

“So, ye’re tellin’ me ye’re convinced as Black Jack is bein’ impersonated by yer … husband?”

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

Jamie sat down gingerly on the bed, a worried frown on his face. “That bein’ the case, where is the real Black Jack?”

“How should I know? Perhaps he’s dead, or captured and imprisoned somewhere.”

“No bluidy likely. It may be as Black Jack sent Frank here to set me at ease, so’s he could trick me into fallin’ into a trap, and haul me back to Wentworth. Supposin’ he ordered this Corporal Hawkins to lie to yer face, to entice ye to come to him?”

I shook my head, “No, I could tell he wasn’t lying.”

He leaned over, tugging off his boots, then gazed up at me. “I didna mean to scold ye, Lass. I’m only worrit ’bout yer safety, ye ken. That man is capable o’ any number o’ diabolical acts.”

I pulled off my stockings, and groaned, “Let’s not talk about this anymore. I’m tired, and I want to go to bed.”

Jamie stood up, and wiggling his fingers, spouted, “Aye, me as weel, but no to sleep. Turn ’bout, Sassenach, and I’ll undo yer laces.”

“Oh, Jamie … I am undone every time you’re near me.”

Smirking, he added, “Good.”

**. . . . .**

I crept out of bed as the first ray of light swept across the window sill. Jamie stirred and turned over onto his other side. I quickly dressed, anxious to get my day started. The sooner I saw my patients, the sooner I could travel to check on the one notorious patient waiting across the ridge. I could then get to the root of this whole mystery. Was it Randall lying in that cot, or was it, Frank?

My surgery was not overly booked this morning, just the usual … a festered splinter, a sprained ankle, and another case of fever. I washed my hands, and replenishing my container of supplies, I set out to fetch Brimstone, and so be on my way.

**# # # # #**

I groped amongst the blankets and such, searchin’ for mo nighean donn. It was scarcely morning, yet the bed was empty, but for me. Sittin’ op, I glanced ’bout the room, her clothes were missin’ from the peg upon the wall as weel. Christ, the lass must’ve gone to her surgery. It wasna hard to imagine where she’d be goin’ to next, aye?

Och … I had marrit a most stubborn woman. I expect as our wee discussion last evenin’ made no much o’ an impression opon her. Leastwise, I’d best get op and dressed if I had any chance to catch my wife afore she set foot in the Sassenach encampment.

Mrs. Fitz packed a few bannocks for me, and I was off to the stable. Sure enough, Brimstone was gone, and my Claire’s bonny backside, no doubt set astride the beast’s saddle. I prepared my own animal and urged Donas onward at a gallop to catch her op.

My trusty stallion narrowed the distance easily, and soon, I caught a glimpse o’ dark curlin’ hair, all wild and free, atop a slender neck, billowin’ away just ahead o’ me. Sassenach mustha heard me comin’ for she stopped o’ a sudden, and allowed me to bring op Donas beside her.

We went on followin’ the trail to the camp after she apprised me o’ the way I should behave amongst them. Leastwise, I had nay quarrel wi’ these men, no yet anaways.

**# # # # #**

Halfway to the site, I heard hoof beats trailing behind me—that obstinate Scotsman. I sighed in exasperation. He pulled up alongside and winked.

Pulling brimstone up sharply, I glared at my pursuer. “Alright, you found me. Now, what— another lecture?”

“Nay, it wouldna be o’ use agin’ ye anaways, seein’ as ye’re such a feisty lass. So just like ye told me once, _If ye canna beat ’em, join ’em._

“Are you saying you’re actually coming with me to see Randall?”

He nodded. “Oh, aye. I wouldna miss this outin’ for all the whiskey in Scotland.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“Wise, or no. I’ll be goin’ wi’ ye.”

Clicking his tongue, he urged Donas forward, and Brimstone dutifully followed.

**. . . . .**

When the smoke from the campfire was visible, curling above the trees, I halted my animal once more.

Jamie reined up and doubled back to join me. “What’s amiss, Sassenach?”

“Before we go one step farther, I would like to set some ground rules.”

A frown creased his brow. “Rules, ye say.”

“Yes, rules. I’ll not have you storming into the camp like a bloody Sherman tank.”

My Scotsman looked all the more puzzled.

Rolling my eyes about, I sputtered, “I don’t have time to explain; sufficient to say that I expect you to be on your best behavior. And furthermore, you will wait outside Randall’s tent until such time as I give you leave to enter. Is that understood?”

“Aye, I dinna like it much, but I suppose I’ll havta abide.”

“Yes, you will. Now come along, Scotty.”

**# # # # #**

As I crossed the threshold into his tent, I was met with Randall, or Frank, or whoever the hell he was, sitting up in a chair, writing some missives. The flush was nearly gone from his cheeks, his hair was combed, and the red uniform of a dragoon donned his body.

I cleared my throat and uttered, “Feeling better, I see.”

“Yes, thanks to your excellent care. I’m loathe to think what might have happened if Hawkins hadn’t sought out your medicinal aid.”

All at once, I felt cowardly, the full import of what I had determined to do filling me with dread. Taking a step backward, I got ready to exit the tent. Perchance I could search out the answers at another time. Timidly, and with a slight bow, I explained, “Well, I just wished to stop by, and ascertain how you were getting on.”

He jerked upright, dropping the papers from his hands. “Claire—wait! Don’t leave yet. I want to know what I said to you yesterday.”

I’m certain my face blanched at his inquiry, but at the same time, he gave me a segueway that I could not ignore. At any rate, I needed to solve the puzzle of Captain/Frank Randall once and for all. Buoying up my courage, I spoke bluntly. “You insinuated that you were my husband, Frank.”

Nodding in agreement, he added, “I did, and I am.”

“You’ll pardon me if I seem a little skeptical. You’re in the Captain’s uniform, the troops address you as such, and you resemble him in a most unsettling fashion. How can I trust that what you disclosed to me is the truth?”

His head canted, and smiling, he said, “By telling you what no one else could possibly know.”

I stepped toward the cot and sat down. “I’m listening.”

“We went to Tomaso’s Bistro on Paisley Street on our wedding day. While there, you accidentally spilled some of your wine onto the salad and the waiter had to bring you another.”

I was stunned by this revelation. Had I spoken of it to anyone here? No, that was highly unlikely.

The man noticed the expression on my face. “You want additional proof, don’t you? Proceed then … go ahead, ask me anything.”

I swallowed, almost afraid of what I might hear, and answered, “Three questions, then.”

He leaned forward in his seat. “Go on.”

“We had a song we considered, _our_ song. What was the name of it? Where did we go on our fifth anniversary? And lastly, what did your mother say when she found out we had gotten married?”

“Our song was Moonlight Serenade by Glen Miller. We didn’t get to celebrate our fifth anniversary. You were serving on the frontlines, and I was back in London, busy training soldiers to resist interrogation. My mother said nothing to us about getting married. She died when I was thirteen years old.”

“Frank …” I whispered.

“Claire …”

At the sound of my name, I knelt in front of him, laying my head in his lap, and broke down into sobs. Jamie took that opportunity to walk in on our intimate encounter.

**# # # # #**

I waited outside Randall’s quarters, pacin’ back and forth, and strainin’ to hear what they were discussin’. The three soldiers as were bivouacked there, followed my ever’ move wi’ their eyes. I kent as I promised Sassenach as I would obey her orders, but when I heard the lass sobbin’ her eyes out, I broke that promise and lifted the flap o’ the tent.

What I saw when I went in was most distressin’. Claire had her head in Frank’s lap, and he was strokin’ the lass’ hair. My breath got caught in my gullet, and my heart fell down to my feet. Was this the end o’ our marriage?

Plantin’ my feet in front o’ the man, I said, “So, ye _are_ Frank Randall.”

“Yes.”

“Can ye tell me how ye came to be here?”

“The same way Claire did … through the standing stones of Craigh na Dun.”

“Ah, I see. And what may I ask are ye plannin’ to do, now as ye’ve made yerself known?”

Her _husband_ made a sound in his throat, then spoke again. “That’s entirely up to Claire. It’s her decision, but you deserve to know that I came here to bring her home with me.”

My legs nearly gave way when he said those words. Would Claire go wi’ him and leave me in misery, or stay by my side?

I tried no to think o’ it, ye ken, so I asked him another question. “Can ye tell me where Captain Randall is?”

“The captain is dead.”

Sassenach raised her head, and wipin’ away her tears, looked op at Frank. “You’re certain of it.”

“Yes, I shot him myself, and watched as he was buried.”

Leastwise, some good came o’ this circumstance, but I wished to be gone from the man’s presence as quickly as was possible. I leaned down and touched her sleeve. “Claire, we must be off. Colum will think somethin’ has gone agley. We’ll no want a war to start, and ye ken Dougal weel.”

Frank stared at my Sassenach in a most tender manner, makin’ the hurt and jealousy rise op in my craw.

He clasped her hand, and added, “I’ll give you time to think it over. Meet me here again in three days’ time with your decision.”

I watched in agony as Frank kissed her goodbye, and prayed to god as her decision would be to stay put. Christ, I loved her so. What would I do wi’out mo nighean donn? It would be a mean existence, a life wi’ nay purpose atall.

  


	14. A Sentinel Event

  

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**. . . . .**

I verra nearly drew my sword when Frank made the statement as he intended to leave wi’ Claire, and ridin’ along back to Leoch, my eyes began to pool wi’ tears at the possibility o’ losin’ her to the man.

We rode in silence all the way to the castle. I expect as Claire was havin’ a difficult time o’ it as weel.

After unsaddlin’ the horses, I left the curryin’ to the stable hand and walked Claire to the surgery. I kissed her cheek when I took my leave o’ her, but as I did so, a thought buggered my mind. I couldna erase the sight o’ Frank pressin’ his lips to hers.

Sadly, I returned to our room and lay down on the bed. I wasna sick, ye ken, but sick at heart. I’d ne’er loved a lass afore I met my Sassenach. And now, I didna think as I could love another if she was taken from me.

I feel asleep, still thinkin’ ’bout how bleak my future was gonta be. When I woke op, I fought agin’ these depressin’ thoughts. It may be as the lass wouldna go wi’ him. I kent as she loved him once, but didna she love _me_ now? 

When my eyes opened agin, I got op from the bed and went to see if my godfather was anawhere ’bout. I wished as I could speak to him concernin’ the sad business as was oppermost in my mind, but kent as he most likely would think me daft. So I had to endure my sorrow alone. Still, bein wi’ him would infuse some comfort into my soul. I roused my faculties, and left the room, searchin’ for Murtagh.

**# # # # #**

The fever left him the following day, and he was in a decidedly cheerful mood. He had no doubt that this euphoria was due to seeing Claire and clarifying his position as her husband. Would she come home with him though? He saw the way she looked at the handsome young Highlander the first time he spotted them together at Inverness. It was obvious that Jamie was very much in love with her as well.

She also seemed to have found a purpose for her life here, in this time. Would she be happy caring for their little home once more in 1945, rather than these people in dire need of her healing touch?

This was not her era. She did not belong here, however much she could assuage the ills and pains of Leoch’s populace. Claire always did have an inordinate amount of compassion saturating her heart, as evidenced by her voluntary service at the front. Unfortunately for Frank, however, being at the frontlines also afforded her a wealth of experience in medical practice—practice that she could utilize in these Highlands.

Ah well, that was water under the bridge, so to speak. He would hear her decision in two more days. No use worrying about it now. The main concern was to feign illness so he could stay encamped here for the duration.

**# # # # #**

I could see the pain in his eyes when we arrived at the surgery. He kissed my cheek with such hesitation prior to leaving, and I concluded that it probably hurt him deeply watching me while _in an amorous clinch_ with my former husband. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Why did I let the man kiss me in front of my Scotsman? Had I lost my mind? What the hell was I going to do about this debacle?

There were a few patients outside the surgery entrance as Jamie and I arrived, so after he exited the room, I motioned for one of the ladies waiting in the hall to come in with her child. Henceforth, I threw myself into my work to forget everything that had happened at the bloody encampment. _Damn you, Frank Randall! Why did you have to come here and complicate my life?_

**. . . . .**

That night, things between Jamie and me were awkward at best. He climbed into bed beside me, but faced away, rather than his usual manner of snuggling up in spooning position. I couldn’t stand it, and so I elbowed him to turn around and face me.

“What’s amiss?” he asked.

“What’s amiss …” I muttered dryly. “Bloody hell! We just discovered that Frank Randall, in the flesh, has descended on Scottish soil in 1744, bent on bringing me home. Talk to me, Jamie. This is not going away until I meet him with my verdict. So, if you don’t wish for me to stay with you, then say as much, and I’ll return to my own time with Frank.”

Sitting up, he grabbed my wrist. “I dinna want ye to go, Sassenach, but he was yer husband afore Dougal forced ye to marry me. I canna fault ye if ye go.”

I shot out of the bed. “Jamie Fraser. You are not the man I married those months ago. Where is my Highland Warrior?”

He shook his mass of copper curls. “I canna fight agin’ the man. He is yer rightful husband.”

I involuntarily raised my eyes to the ceiling. “Then what does that make you?”

“I’m … I’m … I dinna ken, Sassenach. Would ye say I’m yer paramour?”

“God …That sounds so ugly. How dare you!”

He bowed his head. “Aye, I’m ashamed as I brought ye to this.”

“You didn’t know. Don’t be so damn self-deprecating. It was Dougal who engineered our union, not you. Despite that fact, I grew to love you, can’t you see that? And I don’t fathom going back to my old life. I’m needed here. You need me, don’t you?  Let me hear you _say_ that you need me.”

Choking on his words he murmured, “Ye ken as I need ye as … as I need the verra air I breathe.”

“Well, there you are. I need you as well. I love you, Jamie. Why would I ever leave you? Frank has no hold on me anymore, and even though I hate to hurt him, I have to send him back empty-handed. I’m yours, and yours alone. Now lie back down, and make sweet love to your wife.”  _Besides, there’s another very good reason why I can’t go back with him._

His eyes misted at my comment, and he held out his arms as I melted into them.

**# # # # #**

Bein’ raised as a good Catholic boy, I was in a quandary. I loved the lass to distraction, yet I kent as I was committin’ a grievous sin beddin’ her. She’d been marrit afore, but now her husband was no on t’other side o’ the damn stones, and he was threatenin’ to take her to that place as she was from. It would kill me for certain to hand her to Frank like she was chattel for sale, but what could I do? I was a usurper; I had nay right to hold onto her. Unless he disappeared from our lives, I was livin’ wi’ her in adultery, and that thought was verra hard to bear. If only the man had stayed put in 1945 ...  

The air was thick wi’ words unspoken when we readied ourselves for sleep. I shouldha kent as that situation couldna last long, no wi’ my Sassenach in the room. As soon as we were abed, she started into scoldin’ me. But the gist o’ itall was as she loved me truly, and didna wanta leave me, and glad I was o’ it. Maybe Frank would go away after she told him goodbye, then I wouldna feel so guilty ’bout lovin’ her in an intimate way. I said a silent prayer as it would be so.

**# # # # #**

The three days fled swiftly by, and I had to _face the music_ as they say. Jamie and I strode into the tent at the appointed time, our hands clasped tightly together. Frank’s eyes lit up upon my approach. I cringed inwardly, realizing full well that I was about to extinguish that light.

“I’m so glad you’ve come,” he brayed. “These past days have been the longest I’ve experienced.”

“And mine,” I replied.

I glanced at Jamie, never releasing his hand.

“Frank,” I gently began. “I’m sorry, but I can’t leave with you. I have a fulfilling life here. I’ve never felt happier, nor more gratified.”

He huffed in astonishment, his hands flying about. “What? Surely, you don’t mean that. You’re going to give up all the amenities the modern world affords you. Darling, that’s rubbish.”

“No. I’ve thought it out thoroughly, and I’m determined to stay.”

His features suddenly contorted into a disagreeable sneer. “So … let me understand this correctly. I am willing to receive you—knowing _full well_ that you’ve been sharing a bed with this … this Highlander, and yet you refuse to vacate his bed and accept my offer.”

“It’s not like that, Frank. I love him.”

“You think I don’t comprehend that? Wake up, Claire! Your love for him will shrivel and die. You’ll always be in danger, especially as you know what’s to come.”

My voice began to rise. “I don’t care.”

“You’ll change your tune in a hurry when these hills are flowing red with Scottish blood. See reason, darling. Come with me, please.”

“I can’t leave Jamie … not now.” I squeezed Jamie’s hand and looked up into lake-blue eyes, rife with confusion. “I didn’t want to tell you this under these circumstances.” I sighed, and facing Frank, blurted, “I can’t leave … now that I’m carrying his child.”

Jamie’s whole body convulsed in shock.

Frank’s face turned a distressing shade of purple. “How could you?” he shouted at me.

“How could I? Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Jamie and I are married, Frank.”

“As we are! Goddammit, I should have expected as much, since you’re so fond of splaying your legs apart.”

With one hand on his broadsword, Jamie hissed, “That’s enough, Randall. You’ll no speak to Claire in that way.”

“You’re correct in that. But I shall speak to _you_ that way, you filthy cur.

“What may I ask, can you possibly offer her except for your rutting prowess. I should kill you right here. I’ll not raise your bastard as my own.”

I interrupted his tirade. “You won’t get that chance, because I’m no longer yours.”

“Shut your mouth, you feckless whore.”

Jamie unsheathed his sword, and Frank lurched forward grabbing for his pistol lying on a bedside table.

“Jamie, no!” I screamed.

Too late … He lunged toward Frank, but my ex-husband had the firearm already gripped in his hand.

Inserting myself between the two ferocious bulls, I shouted, “Stop, please stop!”

Frank huffed in anger, and shaking his head, put down the pistol. “Alright, you’ve made your choice clear. Now, get out. You and your Scotch lover get to live another day.”

“Just above a whisper, I murmured, “Thank you, Frank. I only wish that you can forgive me and that your heart will heal. For all it’s worth, I did love you.”

I reached up and placed my palm on his cheek. “This is goodbye.”

His expression softened. “Goodbye, Claire.” With that, he turned his back to us, while we made our exit.

**# # # # #**

We rode off a little ways when Jamie pulled up short. Looking over his shoulder at me, he gestured for me to ride up closer.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I just wanta ken as what ye said to Frank was true; that ye didna fabricate it so’s he’d let ye go.”

“You mean about the child ...”

“Aye. Are ye truly wi’ child?”

“Yes. Are you pleased?”

Jamie fairly bounded off his horse and helped me dismount from Brimstone. Holding me tight to his chest, he declared, “Aye, verra pleased.”

Mimicking Jamie’s oft-used phrase, I spoke one syllable. “Good.”

We grinned at each other, and Jamie swung me about in the air above his head. “Stars and stones, I’m to be a father, and ye a mother.”

“Yes, I know.”

Laughing, he lifted me onto my animal’s back and re-mounted Donas. We slowly completed our trek back to Leoch. It turned out to be a bloody good day—a bloody good day indeed.

 


	15. Living on the Edge

 

 

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**. . . . .**

Jamie was in such an ebullient mood after I disclosed my condition. My only regret was that I was forced to tell him in the midst of a very unpleasant situation. While Jamie floated on a cloud of happiness, that was not the case with Frank. Clearly, I was not prepared for that man’s reaction. It was no secret that he wanted children … but of his own flesh and blood. His extreme response, however, proved to be so unlike him. I imagine that rubbing shoulders with that despicable brute, Randall, for such a long period of time had finally toppled Frank over the edge. I barely recognized the scholar with the soft-spoken voice.

It occurred to me that Frank now had two options before him: stay and play out the life of Black Jack, or return to his own milieu. Personally, I hoped for the latter.

My Scotsman was very attentive to me that night, for which I felt the weight of guilt. While Jamie enjoyed our intimacies, I could picture my poor Frank wallowing in self-pity. I had made my decision, but that didn’t mean that I felt any less sorrow over it. Sorrow or not though, I supposed that it could never be the same between us. From now on, Jamie and my child would be my only concerns.

**# # # # #**

It was a blow to his pride to discover that for eight years his wife had remained barren, and now after just a few months of being intimate with that … that Scottish bastard, she was pregnant!

Claire was right of course, he could not accept her with open arms; not while carrying another man’s child. It rankled him. They had spoken previously about adoption—a million years ago it seemed. Even then, he could never reconcile himself to raising someone else’s child, and especially now, when he was aware that this particular someone had carnal knowledge of his wife.

He had been prepared to take Claire back, despite her infidelity, but not the infant gestating in her womb. Then an errant thought occurred to him. Suppose this fellow should die in the very near future. After all, these were dangerous times. That would still leave the child, however. But with the Highlander out of the way, perhaps the idea of Fraser’s offspring wouldn’t seem nearly so repugnant to him. He had to ponder about the fact that the child would possess half of Claire’s genes as well. That detail alone, made it seem more palatable.

_Oh, Claire, couldn’t you have run away? It was bad enough you were forced on Fraser, but did you have to fall in love with the man?_

His eyes began to moisten. With Claire gone from his life, Frank had a choice of his own to make; perpetuate his charade of Jonathan Randall, or continue on at the University. Never one to make a rash decision, he’d sleep on it tonight and conjure up a plan in the morning.

**. . . . .**

Frank obtained little rest that night. He thought and thought until his head ached with the strain. On the one hand, he had his job in Oxfordshire … or did he? Good lord, the dean probably had forgotten all about him by now; he’d been absent for so long. Could he even get on with another college after disappearing without a jot of explanation?

Then, there was this whole heinous Black Jack persona as well. If he fit himself securely in the captain’s boots, Randall’s reputation could be white-washed, leaving the man revered and not a blasted, dark stain on history, and consequently on Frank’s personal ancestral tree. Being the historian that he was, it might very well behoove him to remain behind and actually participate in English and Scottish history.

Since Oxfordshire already was accustomed to the absence of the illustrious professor Randall, he made up his mind to stay and make restitution for the harm that Jonathan inflicted on so many innocent people.

**# # # # #**

At dinner the following evening, Jamie commented, “The Sassenach camp isna more. I expect they returned to Fort William.”

“Yes, I imagine so. What reason could they possibly have to loiter about in the Highlands?”

“Hmn …” Jamie put down his fork and moved his chair a bit closer to me. With eyes narrowed, he inquired, “Can I ask ye somethin’, Claire?”

I took a sip of my water ... yes, water. I didn’t feel it prudent to drink alcohol while pregnant. Turning my head toward him, I answered, “By all means. Out with it, Scotty.”

Jamie elicited a great sigh, then continued, “Weel, Randall … Frank, I mean, said as ye ken what’s comin’ our way. Is it opon us then?”

I whispered so only he could hear my reply. “Two years at most.”

Licking his lips, he nodded in understanding. “Ah …”

“I’ve been thinking about how we might be instrumental in the prevention of the massacre.”

“How so?”

“What if we traveled to France and sabotaged Charles’ petition for the financing of his coup?”

He sat back in his chair, looking rather smug. “Ye’re a clever woman, Sassenach, but e’en I can see as it’s a verra grave undertakin’. So, how can ye expect to do as much?”

“Oh, I’ll think of something.”

His lips curled up in a smile. “Aye, of course, ye will.”

**# # # # #**

The troops finished striking camp, and Frank led the little party quickly to Fort William. Without the presence of the cumbersome cart to slow them down, they arrived in record time.

No sooner had they passed the gates, than Frank immediately was walking to Corporal Foster’s billet to pay his respects. The soldier was well on his way to recovery, but the use of his leg would take time.

“I’m sorry, sir, “Foster remarked, nervously. “I’m afraid I won’t be of much service out in the field.”

Frank patted the man’s shoulder. “Now, don’t go on about that. We can always find something less strenuous to keep you occupied. You’ll be on the mend soon enough.”

“Thank you, sir,” the corporal mumbled, timidly. The poor fellow looked positively stricken. No doubt he was terrified that Frank would take him to task for not healing fast enough to suit him.

God’s teeth, Foster had been wounded through no fault of his own. It wasn’t as if he did it purposely. Frank scratched his head as he exited the man’s accommodations. Randall had instilled such fear in his own men; the tender-hearted imposter certainly had his work expressly tailored for him.

**. . . . .**

A fortnight had come and gone and Frank did not seem to raise any suspicions among the troops as yet. Then, one of the younger enlistees, accompanied by Hawkins, was walking down the hall while Frank, unbeknownst to them, overheard the corporal say to the young man, “It’s alright, Milton, the captain won’t force you. You might not see a promotion if you refuse him, though.  Well, just don’t turn your back on him, or he may change his mind and bugger you anyway. You know how capricious he can be at times.”

So that was the reason Randall had been so cruel to Fraser. It all fell into place. The Scotsman had rebuffed his advances.

A wave of nausea swept over Frank. The more he learned of Randall’s proclivities, the more he despised him.

**. . . . .**

Another week had concluded, and the following Monday while he was at his desk, there was a knock on the door to his quarters. “Come,” he bellowed.

A newly transferred recruit popped in and informed him, “Sir, sorry to disturb you, but there’s a chap without, that says he’s your brother.”

Brother? Frank had no siblings. He was an only child. But … Jonathan did—of course, his younger brother, Alexander. After deliberating for a moment, Frank replied, “Send him in.”

Alexander sauntered in a few minutes later, tricorn in hand, smiling at his esteemed elder. “Ho, Jonny. I haven’t seen you since Father’s funeral. How are things?”

The family resemblance was astonishing, and Frank found it difficult to conceal his surprise. Perhaps, Alexander would assume that it was nothing more than the shock of his unprecedented appearance.

“Splendid, splendid,” Frank finally uttered. He had no inkling of what else to say. Ultimately, something sprang from his lips. “Tell me what brings you here. Not bad news, I hope.”

Alexander’s dark eyes twinkled. “Ha, ha. I will keep you in suspense until I receive a brotherly embrace from you.”

Well, that was unexpected. Apparently, Randall had an affection for one human at least.

After encircling the young man in his arms, Frank leaned his head back to obtain a better view of his _brother_. Alexander displayed a thin physiognomy, with a light complexion, almost to the point of being pale. His hair was dark, along with his eyes, and his height equaled Frank’s.

This situation might well prove to be problematic. What was he call him … Xander, Alexander, Alex?

Smiling broadly, Alexander responded, “Hmn … why am I here? Why _am_ I here?” He chuckled, softly. “Haven’t the foggiest. But when the Duke of Sandringham calls, Alex obeys. I’m his secretary, you see, as I explained in my latest missive. He is taking me with him to France, and I, in turn, am taking my brother with me. It’ll be a jolly adventure.”

 Frank drummed his fingers on the top of his desk. “That is all well and good, but it’s just so much wishful thinking. I’d love to accompany you, Alex, but unfortunately, my duty lies here.”

“Not so, Jonny. Sandringham has pulled the strings, and you’ll be free of this place for a while …” Here he coughed so forcefully that he turned blue with the effort. Then finally, as the fit concluded, he amended, “… months in fact.”

It was starting to come back to him. Didn’t Alexander die at an early age of consumption? He appeared very frail at this moment; it wouldn’t be long before the disease took him to his grave.

**# # # # #**

My scheme to thwart Prince Charlie’s coup came to fruition, and Jamie hated the dangerous game of espionage we were playing. It was ironic to me that not so long ago, I was being pigeon-holed as a spy, and now, the evidence was irrefutable. The risk we were taking made my stomach clench every time I received a purloined communication. I realized that Fergus’ life would be in jeopardy as well. I had to put those thoughts behind me, however, as the lives of thousands of Highlanders were at stake.

**. . . . .**

Our modus operandi was to appear at every soiree held by royalty and keep an ear out for any information about Prince Charles’ attempt at regaining the Stewart throne in Scotland. At one of these gatherings, I saw a man coming toward me. His resemblance to Frank was remarkable. I asked one of the servants who he was.

“Oh, ma’am, that’s Sandringham’s assistant, Alexander Randall, I believe.”

Alexander Randall; hmn … I remembered that name from the sheet of genealogy documents that Reverend Wakefield gleefully set out before my eyes.

Mary Hawkins, whom I befriended recently, stood behind me, blushing to her hair roots. Alexander grinned at the sight of her, and I stood wide-eyed, and mouth agape, as he took her hand and swept her off to the garden.

**. . . . .**

Jamie appeared beside me, holding two glasses, one containing wine, and the other, unfermented grape juice, which he nearly dropped. I trained my eyes to rest on the person that Jamie spotted, and was apt to drop my glass as well. Bloody hell, there was Frank, bigger than life, in a friendly discussion with that unscrupulous Sandringham. Did he follow us here? Couldn’t he at least have had the decency to go back through those cursed stones? What was the man thinking?

Frank glanced up from his lively exchange with the disreputable duke and startled as he witnessed me staring at him. He smiled, waving nonchalantly at us, the beast!  

Jamie had his itchy fingers on the hilt of his sword, immediately on handing me my drink. I brushed it away in horror. “Please …” I begged. “I can’t have you making a scene in the midst of these guests.” Calling Frank out, and being a participant in a duel, would most certainly apply as a scene; furthermore, it was a criminal offense to engage in a duel, no matter the severity of the affront.

We left early, avoiding an unpleasant encounter with Frank. We did not meet him again until months later. Unfortunately, the circumstances at that time were not entirely amenable to goodwill.

~~~~~~~

A/N: The term, _haven’t the foggiest_ was actually coined by David Niven when he filmed Around the World in 80 Days, but I  like it even tho’ it’s out of place in Alex’s timeline.

 

 

 

 

 


	16. Tempus Fugit

  

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**. . . . .**

Despite his fears, Frank grew to enjoy his association with Alexander. He had such an affable spirit about him. It was no wonder Randall held an inordinate amount of affection for the young man. The fact that he would only grace Frank’s life for a short time was a cross he had to bear. In the meantime, they were on their way to France.

Just one week into the sojourn, Alexander met a pretty little miss named, Mary Hawkins. At first, he was distressed that she seemed put off by him.

“Why do you suppose she’s so reticent, Jonny? I’ve never been ungentlemanly whenever we’ve met. I don’t understand it.”

“Just come right out and ask her.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t.”

“Faint heart never won fair maiden.”

Alexander let out a painful groan. “I shall very likely _faint_ if I have to pry into her private concerns, but perhaps I _should_ put the question to her.”

**. . . . .**

Frank was in a pub awaiting Alexander, anxious to hear if he had clarified why the girl seemed to shy away from him. He had just finished off a glass of chardonnay when his brother appeared. His expression was ineffable.

Alexander plunked down with a thud. “Well, Jonny. It turns out that she’s avoiding me so as not to sully my reputation.”

“What?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his head buoyed up upon his fists. “It’s true. Apparently, she was assaulted and raped several weeks ago. Her betrothed broke off their engagement on discovering that fact; not that she ever had any feelings for the man … But in the aftermath of the situation, she feels like she has no worth, and no respectable man will have her. Well, I’ll have her. It was not her doing. She is still a virgin in my eyes.”

“Did you express those sentiments to her?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“And …?”

“Mary was inconsolable. She wept while in my arms for quite some time.”

“You’re a good man, Alex.”

“I couldn’t help myself. I love her, Jonny.”

**. . . . .**

The next week while at Versailles, he watched Alexander and Mary saunter off together to the gardens. It seemed that there was a mutual approbation between them.

The Duke then found him and he was thus immersed in conversation. When Frank turned his head he saw Claire and that Scotsman side by side. What could he do? And should he even care? In a burst of brazenness, he waved to the couple and actually smiled. Ha—what would they think of that?

As the weeks passed, he couldn’t help but notice that his brother and Mary were inseparable. The relationship was bound to end in tragedy, however, since the hacking cough that plagued Alexander grew worse, and now whenever he covered his mouth with a handkerchief, it came away in his fingers with streaks of blood.

**# # # # #**

Mary confided in me one day while shopping. I was holding up some crepe de chine to her. “I believe this will accentuate your coloration, and emphasize the blue in your eyes. We can have it made up at Madame Reinette’s and you can wear it all season.”

She bowed her head and scurried down the aisle of the shoppe, her hand to her mouth, sobbing. Letting go of the ream, I raced after her.

I caught her up and gently pulled on her shoulder to face me. “Mary, what is it?”

“Oh, C-C-Claire, I’m so ashamed. I love Alex so, and now he lies in bed, dying.”

“He’s that ill, then? I can understand your concern, but what has that to do with a bolt of fabric?”

“Y-Y-Yes, he’s dying of consumption, but that’s not all.”

Averting her eyes, she muttered, “I’m expecting his child.”

Well, that was a bloody shock. I blanched at that disclosure. “Oh dear, that is a problem.”

“I-I don’t know w-w-what to do,” she sniffled.

I lifted her chin and looked deep into her eyes. “Does Alex know?”

“I c-c-can’t tell him. This will surely kill him sooner.”

With that, she blubbered all the more. I clasped her to my bosom, patting her back. I whispered in her ear, “You have to confess. You owe it to him, Mary. This is his child as well. He has a right to know.

**. . . . .**

“Weel, what are we to do ’bout it, can ye tell me?”

“How should I know? But there has to be some way to preserve her honor.”

“Oh, aye. We can search out a lad to marry her.” He stood beside the dresser, drumming his fingers on the top. “And whom d’ye suppose will see fit to be her groom, seein’ as she’s wi’ child?”

“What a chauvinistic thing to say! That’s a bloody double standard. I’m pregnant with _your_ child.”

“Aye, but we were marrit when I got ye that way. Stars and stones, I should go to the cur, and run him through.”

With all the sarcasm I could muster, I said, “That will certainly solve everything, won’t it? Jamie, he’s dying.”

“Weel, and I suppose it’d be wrong o’ me to hasten his departure from this earth!”

I removed one shoe and flung it at him. He ducked in the nick of time. “Have a little compassion—they love each other.”

“It comes back to this, then. What has it to do wi’ us?”

“Nothing whatsoever … yet, I’d feel remiss if we sat back and let her shame become apparent to everyone.”

“What d’ye propose to do?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.”

He winked playfully. “I ken as I’ve heard that many times afore.”

**. . . . .**

As it happened, Claire didna havta do much thinkin’ on the problem. Mary had us come to the apartment and lo and behold, Frank Randall was in attendance and the parish priest, as weel. Ifrinn! I huffed, frustrated as I was, but I kept it to myself, ye ken, in respect for Alex. He looked all reely-wally and fair puckled.

I listened to the dyin’ man as he begged Frank to marry the Hawkins lass. “Jonny, if you love me still, please do this one thing for me. Marry her, and promise to provide for her and the child.”

Frank looked at Mary and asked, “Is this arrangement agreeable to you?”

With tears in her eyes, she answered, “Yes.”

“Alright, then.”

The Frasers will stand in as witnesses,” the priest added.

**. . . . .**

I ne’er did see such a thin’ as this afore. A man, pleadin’ wi’ his brother to marry his verra own _graidheag_ , but leastwise, it did solve the shameful predicament o’ the lassie’s honor.

I couldna find it in my heart to hate Alexander for what he did to Mary. The man was on his deathbed, and who was I to judge him so. That day, I gained a new respect for Frank as weel, for what was the lad to him, except for a name scribbled opon a record ’til now?

Two days later, we found as Alexander had passed on to the eternities.

**# # # # #**

In a way, it was a relief to Frank to be wed to Mary. That confirmed that he was not a direct descendant of that amoral Randall as erroneously thought, but of his sweet-tempered sibling, Alexander.

He traveled via coach after the quiet ceremony, to his room at _Le Hotel Chanticleer_ on Rue Morand, leaving his new bride at Alexander’s bedside. He thought it best to allow Mary to spend what little time remained in his brother’s life. It wouldn’t be long now. He’d say his goodbyes tomorrow.

**# # # # #**

Back at our accommodations, Jamie and I discussed the wedding.

“Ye say as Mary Hawkins is to be yer Frank’s great-grandmother?”

“Yes, so that throws a spanner into the works. For years, Frank and I assumed he was descended from Jonathan Randall, when all the while his ancestor proves to be that gentle soul, Alex.

**# # # # #**

Frank kissed Alexander’s cheek, and let him pass. He said, “I love you, Alex, but you’re free to go. I’ll look after Mary and your son, as I promised.”

Not a moment passed before he took his last breath. Mary squeezed his hand, crying, “No, no. Don’t leave me.”

Pulling her away, he walked with Mary to the landlord to make last arrangements for Alexander’s remains to be boarded onto a ship heading for England. They waited in the room for the undertaker to arrive, then sadly watched as the body was whisked away to the morgue.

He took Mary back to his room, and though the circumstances were such, he needed to explain their future relationship.

“We are wed in the eyes of the church, and of the law, but in regard for the love Alex had for you, I cannot in good conscience be a proper husband to you. By that I mean, I will see to your needs; house, clothe and feed you. When the little one is born, I will do the same for him or her, as much as it is in my power to do so, but that is all. If you find another love, I will step aside, no questions asked. Do you understand my meaning?”

“Yes, and thank you, Jonathan.”

**. . . . .**

Frank took Mary with him to Oxfordshire to bury Alexander in the family plot.

The day of the internment, it rained; seemingly the clouds wept with Mary. Surprisingly, Frank himself, cried along with her. He took her hand, kissing it, trying to console her.

**# # # # #**

My not so clever scheme to venture into the world of espionage ended in abysmal failure, and so Jamie and I hied back to Scotland. A couple months later, my precious Brianna Claire was born—red hair, blue eyes, and lungs that could flatten the walls of Jericho. Jamie was over the moon in love with her.

With the war on the horizon, I persuaded Jamie to take us all to somewhere safe until the battle of Culloden had concluded.

A week before the event, Frank found me meandering near the apothecary shoppe where I first glimpsed him on the cart outside Inverness. Bloody hell—not again!

“Claire!” he shouted.

Too late, there was no escape for me this time. He’d already seen me.

I froze where I stood, and turned to see him racing after me on that blasted animal of his.

Catching his breath after his exertions, he dismounted and said, “Claire, I assure you, I am not here to beg you to come back to me, or to criticize you for your choice. I just wish to say goodbye. I shall be returning to our own time on the eve of Culloden.”

I was thunderstruck. “But you promised Alex that you would see to Mary and his child.”

Looking down at the reins in his hand, he commented, “In truth, I doubt Mary would notice my absence. It’s not as if we share in a traditional marriage. We rarely see one another; our relationship is strictly platonic. She has her son, my grandfather, to keep her content.” Lifting his head, he gazed into my eyes. “Anyway, Jonathan succumbed at the battle, and if I’m never found it’ll be as if I died on that field. That’s undeniable history, Claire. So this is goodbye. My only wish is for you and your Scotsman to be happy.”

Nodding, I agreed, “We are, and ever will be. Thank you, Frank, and good luck to you.”

He reached out, and stroking my face, choked out, “Farewell, my darling, Claire.”

In answer, I tearfully replied, “Goodbye, Frank Randall.”

**. . . . .**

In our little cottage on the Isle of Skye, Jamie tromped about the room with Brianna, riding piggyback and giggling. “Faster, Da, faster …”

He set her down as I entered to announce, “Dinner is ready.”

**. . . . .**

Jamie broke off a chunk of soda bread. “Ye say as Frank bid ye goodbye?”

“Yes, I suppose we won’t have to worry about him intruding on our lives ever again.”

“Good.” He placed his hand over mine, squeezing it.

**# # # # #**

Frank returned to his own era and got on with a prestigious university. He authored many _factual_ accounts of battles, encounters, politics, and cultures, and became a widely respected historian.

As for Black Jack … no one at the time could surmise what had wrought such a mighty change in his manner. Sufficient to say, he was no longer a blot on the whole of English society. His soldiers in the intervening years had forgotten the cruelties at his hand, and instead, he’d become much esteemed and beloved of his men.

The many experts who reviewed his tomes inferred that it was if the man had been living in those times. And to think … it all came about on that little hill named Craigh na Dun, on that fateful day when he heard a familiar voice gliding on the wind ... yes, a voice, and a love from the past.  

The End

 


End file.
